


Darkening Angel

by Hello_Spikey



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: M/M, Season/Series 05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-30
Updated: 2011-10-19
Packaged: 2019-09-12 12:44:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 55
Words: 77,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16873152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hello_Spikey/pseuds/Hello_Spikey
Summary: Like many disasters at Wolfram and Hart, it began with a meeting.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A season-5 fic with lots of Spike hurt.
> 
> There will be non-con, dub-con, dick!Angel, and the usual things I love so much. Including a very blatant set-up. :D

Like many disasters at Wolfram and Hart, it began with a meeting.

The conference room was spacious and the air conditioning top-notch, but still they felt packed in, and the weight of all those wool suits and all that moral ambiguity lay heavily on every sweat-lined face.

Gunn leaned his elbows on the table, leveling his gaze at the man across from him, who was just off of normal with a sickly grey-chalk complexion and hair that looked vacuum-molded like a ken doll’s. “Mr. Nolex, you’ve been with our firm for years.”

“Decades, really. And I consider it more of a friendship than a business relationship,” Mr. Nolex smiled his plastic smile.

“So why can’t you understand,” Gunn shifted, glancing at the rest of the Nolex Corporation’s people, “As a friend, that these… infractions… are creating an embarrassment to Wolfram and Hart?”

Angel’s face was as stony as an idol’s at the head of the table, but the jaw tightened just a bit more at the word “infractions” to show his displeasure at the euphemism.

Wesley, seated closest to him, could hear teeth grinding. He broke in with what he hoped was a pleasant smile, “These sacrifices aren’t even serving a valid purpose. Kel’mi’resh will not rise until 2057 at the earliest.”

Gunn gave Wesley a slight eyebrow raise.

Mr. Nolex smoothed a hand over his tie. “I understand your position, gentlemen, but if I am to give something, you should as well.”

“Of course,” Wesley said, at the same time that Gunn nodded. Angel didn’t move, though there was a tiny twitch under his right eye.

Mr. Nolex glanced around the room, as though changing the subject. “Where is that other vampire? The pretty blonde one?”

“Harmony?” Gunn pulled back in his seat, he was so surprised.

Nolex smiled. “No. The male, with the soul and all the black leather.” He licked his lips like there was something tasty on them.

“Spike?” Gunn looked even more flabbergasted by this idea. He looked to Angel for assistance.

Angel spoke up for the first time in the meeting. “Spike isn’t an employee.”

“Well, he’s obviously attached to you, in some capacity. I want him.”

Gunn said, “We are not in a habit of negotiating away our staff.”

“Oh, that’s so not true,” Nolex replied, smugly.

Wesley cleared his throat and met Gunn’s outraged expression apologetically. “The firm has a history of… lending personnel to top-rated clients.”

“We’re under new management now,” Angel said, leaning forward somewhat menacingly. “And he’s not. Staff.”

Nolex was unmoved. “That may be, but until I get what I want, you won’t get what you want. Come now, gentlemen! I won’t hurt the boy. Much.”

Gunn opened his mouth, on the verge of asking what he wanted Spike for, but wisely changed his mind. He cleared his throat. “You’re saying that in exchange for a temporary loan of, uh, our freelancer… you’ll stop the killings?” Gunn grimaced, obviously dissatisfied with his own choice of words.

“Absolutely,” Nolex beamed. “In fact, I’ve taken the liberty of working up a contract.” He gestured to one of his lackeys who produced a stack of folders from a briefcase and started passing them around: slick dark-blue paper folders with the logo of the Nolex Corporation – they were supposedly a chemical manufacturer, though nothing in their extensive legal files mentioned chemicals.

Gunn flipped through the contract, knowing the rest of his team were waiting for his assessment. It was as legitimate and legal as all contracts as Wolfram and Hart – which meant completely morally reprehensible. “I’d like a little time to look this over,” he said, although it was straightforward enough.

“Of course,” Nolex stood.

Wesley cleared his throat. “Pardon me for asking, but what exactly do you want him for?”

Nolex gave Wes a pitying look. “To fuck, of course.”

Wesley and Gunn both found the papers in front of them surprisingly interesting to look at as an uncomfortable pause descended.

“Fine,” Angel said, slapping the table. “Gunn will examine your proposal, and get back to you. Thank you for coming,” he said in a tone that implied he hoped they’d meet an untimely end on their way out.

As they filed out, Gunn snagged Angel’s elbow. “We aren’t actually considering this, right?”

“That’s your job to figure out,” Angel said.

“Which means we are considering it.”

“I’d rather rip that evil bastard’s head off, but someone,” he gave Gunn a pointed look, “keeps telling me their firm is too powerful.” Angel shrugged. “Worst case scenario? It’s just Spike.”

“What’s just me?” Spike sauntered in. “Oh, don’t get all constipated, people. Just here to ask granddad for the keys to the car.” He smiled in a most sarcastic manner and held out his hand.

Angel growled. “Oh yeah, we’re considering it.”

“Less considering and more handing over. I’ve got a date.” He looked around at the somber expressions Gunn and Wesley were giving. “Okay…” He dropped his hand. “What did I miss? World ending again?”

Wes, Gunn, and Angel each glanced at each other, expressing a near palpable “No way am I telling him – you tell him.”

Wesley sighed and took a step forward. “We are in negotiations with a minor demon lord who has asked, well, demanded, really…. Well, you.”

Spike took the news with a preening smile. “Well, can’t help how desirable I am. What’s he need? Bodyguard?”

Angel covered his face and tried to hold his laugh in. He failed.

Spike’s face fell. “Wot?”

“He wants to fuck you,” Angel said, clapping the other vampire on the shoulder and meeting his shocked expression with a smug eyebrow raise.

“Fuck that!” Spike said, pushing Angel’s hand off his shoulder.

“It’s not – nobody’s agreeing to this,” Gunn interjected.

“Yet,” Wes added, and Gunn shot him a glare.

Spike shrugged to adjust the lay of his leather coat and said, “Fine, I’m sure my lady friend has transportation of her own.” He turned in a swirl of leather and stalked back the way he’d come, leaving the small knot of frustrated men behind him.

No one wanted to say any more on the subject, and so Gunn, Wes, and Angel went their separate ways.


	2. The Contract

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the inevitable happens!

Several days later, Spike came home to find Angel standing in the middle of his apartment, looking awkward. Spike sighed, dropping his keys on top of the telly. “The super let you in? I’ll have to have words with him.”

“Lindsey used Wolfram and Hart funds to rent this place. We… the firm has a key.”

“Time to change the locks, then,” Spike said. He pushed past Angel, going straight for the fridge.

Angel watched him take out a beer, pop the cap off on the edge of the splintered formica countertop, and then chug half of it down in one gulp. Spike gasped his approval and leaned back against the fridge door. He said nothing, not wanting to make conversation any easier on Angel.

Angel put his hands on his hips, causing his jacket to bulge unattractively. “I’m here to ask for your help.”

“Oh, that has to hurt.” Spike grinned. “Do squirm some, Peaches. I haven’t had fun all day.”

Angel glanced ceiling-ward, his cheeks puffing out briefly. “I tried to send a covert operation against Nolex. It didn’t work. We lost some good people.”

“If you’re waiting for ‘I told you so’, I’m sick of saying it. Get out of that place, Liam, while you have a shred of soul still intact.”

“Damnit, Spike!” Angel glared at a random spot on the wall. “We need to go with the first option.”

“He says, as though I know what the fuck he’s talking about.” Spike set down his now-empty beer and folded his arms to better look disapproving.

Angel squirmed. “The offer Nolex made. The… thing. With you.”

Slowly, understanding dawned. “No.”

“People are dying. Children, Spike.”

“That’s the fault of the evil fucker that’s doing it.”

Angel scowled. “Of course, I wouldn’t expect an appeal to your better self to work.”

“Bugger off. Why don’t you deal with him?”

“I told you, I’ve tried. We’re out of options.”

“The fuck we are. You fuck him; you’re the one with the martyr complex.”

“I would, if he wanted me. He doesn’t.”

“Heh. I’ll remember that one. Bet your volunteer spirit will disappear if it actually happened.” Spike bumped Angel with his shoulder, heading for the couch.

Angel turned and grabbed his arms. As Spike opened his mouth to protest, possibly violently, Angel said, “Please.”

Spike sagged and shot him a look that said this was clearly a dirty tactic. He shrugged Angel’s hands off. “Why am I always the one ending up arse-up?”

“If I needed you to kill something, you’d do it even if it saved no one.”

Spike scowled. “How dare you. All I hear from you these days is how I’m insufficiently soulful. Just because I don’t go around groaning about the weight of my angst or such bollocks, you think I don’t care. You think, what, if I was just properly heroic enough I wouldn’t mind getting raped for the cause? Is that it?”

“It isn’t heroic if you’re just...” Angel groaned, and with a super-human effort, pulled himself back from the argument. “Please. We really have no choice. I’ve been searching for options with Gunn and Wes all week…”

“You, Gunn, and Wes?” Spike cocked an eyebrow. “There’s a pretty tangle. Surprised about Gunn, though. Oh I knew the Watcher was a bit bent, because they are a flock of perverted old…” Spike broke his own musing with a laugh, seeing Angel’s increasingly consternated face.

Angel stood still and dour as Spike’s giggles died down. “I need to know, Spike. Can I count on you, or can’t I?”

That sobered Spike the rest of the way up. He looked away, jaw tight. “You know you can. You knew what I’d say before you came here.” He caught Angel’s gaze, eyes flashing with anger. “Or you don’t sodding know me at all.”

“Thanks,” Angel said, tersely, and turned to leave. “Be at the office tomorrow by nine. All the details will be explained then. There’s a contract to sign.”

“In blood?” Spike asked, fluttering his eyelashes.

Angel slammed the door behind him.

****

Spike told himself he would not be on-time to the office the next morning. Instead he played three straight games of Mario Kart upon waking, and drank all the beer he had left.

It was 8:15 when he reached the Wolfram and Hart basement entrance, the big white clock on the wall mocking his nerves. He hadn’t been able to take his time coming in, even with the few quick dashes through the sunlight that punctuated his mostly-underground commute. He paced and swore and snuck up to the commissary to snag some food and blood before the meeting.

Nolex was early, too, waiting in front of the conference room with a cup of coffee and a leer. Spike hadn’t met the man before, but he guessed who he was by the way his eyes followed Spike with proprietary glee.

Spike pretended to not notice him and set his elbow on Harmony’s desk. “Hello, love. Your tits are looking exceptionally well-displayed today.”

Harmony quirked an eyebrow at him and flicked her gaze behind him.

That was when Spike realized he’d bent over with his arse toward the demon now salivating over it. He hurriedly moved to the side of Harmony’s desk, his back toward the wall, and had only lack of circulation to thank for not blushing.

He coughed. “So, does everybody know my embarrassing predicament?”

“Yup, pretty much. I mean, the IT guys know, and once they get a hold of something, it might as well be on CNN.”

“That’s great, Harm. Just great.” He slumped against the wall, staring cold daggers back at Nolex, who paused in joking with an associate to tip his coffee cup toward Spike in a little mock-toast.

“I’d take it as a compliment,” Harmony offered.

Gunn walked in, then, with Angel, conferring as they approached. Gunn had a briefcase in hand. Angel nodded in greeting as they passed, but Gunn avoided looking at Spike altogether. They opened the meeting room and stepped inside. Nolex and his entourage followed. Spike adjusted the lay of his coat. “I must be out of my mind. Wish me luck, Harm.”

To his surprise, she stood and gave him a little peck on the cheek. “I’d want you too, you know, if I was evil.”

He ducked his head. “You are, evil, Harm.”

She huffed, “Why does everyone…”

“But thanks,” Spike finished, and gave her a cheek-peck in return.

He felt a thrill of fear as the meeting room door closed behind him and all eyes turned his way. Too anxious to sit, he tucked his thumbs in his belt and said, “Right, so how’s this working?”

Gunn stood, one hand on the button of his blazer, he read from the contract pages in front of him. “Gentlemen, this is a standard work contract. The party of the first part – Nolex Incorporated, agrees to suspend its ritual preparations until 2012…”

“Suspend?” Spike shouted. “Bloody hell, Peaches! Aren’t you even making them stop altogether?”

Gunn gave him a withering look, and continued in the same tone, “… and cease all human sacrifices indefinitely.”

“Oh,” said Spike. Suddenly he needed to sit down.

Nolex laughed. “Don’t worry, Angel. It’s not his mind I’m interested in.”

Everyone was silent for a moment. Gunn cleared his throat and continued reading. Spike wrapped his coat around himself and pointedly looked straight out the window.

He was listening, though. This was his arse they were talking about and he’d prefer to know if it was going to come back in one piece. The wording was confusing, all that painful contortion lawyers have to do to the English language to get it to be beyond interpretation.

Gunn glanced up, waiting for Spike to acknowledge the pause. “That means he can’t cast any spells on you, or hurt you in any way that a normal vampire can’t heal.”

Spike gave him a cold glance. He didn’t bother answering that there was a hell of a lot of damage a normal vampire could heal. They knew that. “Are we to the point where I sign my name and get back to my busy day?”

Nolex was looking at him with proprietary glee, no doubt already planning out the busy night ahead.

For some reason, Angel had to sign the contract, too. There was a protracted reading and re-reading of the short section that proclaimed him a witness, approving of the contract, but with no official role… blah blah.

Spike kept his eyes on Charley. Gunn pointed things out and then picked up the paper after Angel signed it. He set it in front of Spike. “Do you want anything explained or re-read before you sign?”

Spike shook his head.

Gunn poked Spike’s forearm with a fountain pen, lifting the lever to draw blood up into the reservoir, and then pointed to the appropriate line on the last page of the contract.

He chose to sign simply as “Spike”. The blood splattered a bit as he dotted the “I”. His mother would be mortified at the penmanship. He handed the pen back to Charley and walked out of the meeting room without looking back.


	3. The Tryst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spike/OC this chapter, uh, not that you weren't expecting that...

At sunset, they had a limo waiting to take Spike to a hotel. That was a part of the bargain so Nolex couldn’t set up some kind of ambush or sacrifice or magical bollocks. One night, a public place, and Nolex could not check in more than an hour before Spike.

Spike sincerely doubted it would help. There was lots of mojo you could work in one hour.

The drive wasn’t long. He’d barely had time to drink one mini-bottle of jack. The hotel was an old, expensive place. All beaux-arts gaudiness and wealth you could smell. Spike wasn’t impressed, and affected even more so, leaning bored against pilasters while Angel’s evil minion checked him in at the desk and procured the room key. Across the palatial lobby a teenager loudly stage-whispered to her friend that “Omigawd, I bet he’s, like, a rock star or something.”

Despite himself, Spike had to smile at that.

He tried to enjoy the moment. Tried to not think about the ridiculousness of being sent up like a doxy to some stranger. Tried to pretend he didn’t give a rat’s tit.

Something happened at the counter. Goon-boy returned with the key. By contract, Angel’s security goons had to wait downstairs. They weren’t happy about that and gave him stern looks like they were afraid HE was going to be the one misbehaving.

Elevator – posh. Hallway – posh. Hotel room – suite, correction – all the color of peach sherbet and decorated with modern furniture in dark colors to show off the white woodwork and fireplace. In short: hideous. Angel would no doubt have loved it.

Spike kicked a loveseat out of square and dropped himself on it. There was a flat-panel over the fireplace and he searched the little drawers in the coffee table for the remote.

“You won’t need that,” Nolex said, coming in from the bedroom just as Spike found it. He already had one of the terrycloth hotel bathrobes on. His grayish skin was even less natural against the pale peach walls behind him.

“Really, because I was thinking this isn’t going to take all my concentration.” Spike pointed the remote at the TV and pressed the power button without taking his eyes off the demon.

Nolex smiled. He closed the distance between them quickly and gracefully, gripping Spike’s remote-hand before he could jerk it away. “Let’s not pretend this isn’t what it is,” Nolex said. His fingers squeezed, hard, trying to pull the remote from Spike’s hand. Spike resisted, and pushed himself away, deeper into the couch cushions.

Nolex held still. “You read the contract, sweet. Well, you signed it, anyway. You don’t fight me. Not tonight.”

They held each other’s gazes, a silent struggle. Nolex smiled nastily, enjoying the defiance under Spike’s skin, the way he twitched, wanting to fight. The way his hand went slack.

“Good boy.” Nolex lowered onto him, pushing his body down into the sofa. His lips brushed along Spike’s jaw.

Spike turned his head away. “I’m not your sodding boyfriend. Let’s just get this over with.”

Nolex didn’t listen, only continued his slow exploration with hands and lips. It was gentle and slow. Spike clenched his fists at his sides.

After a while, Nolex pulled back. “The shrinking virgin act doesn’t become you,” he said.

“Yeah, well, participation wasn’t in the contract, asswipe.”

Nolex, unconcerned, stretched his arms overhead. His robe hung loose now. Spike averted his eyes. He’d already felt the weight and breadth of the man’s cock against his thigh, unless that was a third knee, and wasn’t particularly interested in more hints at what awaited. “That’s all right, sweet,” Nolex said, and turned toward the bedroom. “You’ll cooperate next time.”

Spike felt a cold lump form in his belly at the absolute certainty in his voice.

Nolex paused at the archway between sitting area and bedroom. “Well, come on,” he said, grinning, “Let’s ‘get this over with’.”

Spike held still.

Nolex grinned so wide fine wrinkles appeared in his odd skin like plastic-wrap. “Oh, please violate the contract. PLEASE.”

Stiffly, Spike stood. He kept his eyes straight ahead and managed a bit of a swagger. “Don’t bore me with your villain-of-the-week performance. I’m coming.”

He wasn’t surprised to find ropes and chains already in place on the wide bed. The bedclothes had been stripped and replaced with a clear plastic sheet. “Expecting some mess, are we?”

“Do lie down. I promise, you won’t be called upon to ‘participate’. Not this time.”

Spike looked at the thick plastic and the blue mattress beneath, all bumpy with quilting. Top-notch, no doubt. Like the hotel. He shrugged out of his duster and dropped it on a chair. “Am I supposed to strip first?”

“If you want your clothes wearable tomorrow, I’d recommend it.”

Spike turned his back on the man and pulled his shirt off.

Thick-fingered hands landed on his back, cold and rubbery. He jumped forward, twisting around to glare at Nolex.

“You can’t expect me not to touch you,” the demon tutted and advanced on Spike.

“Greedy bastard, aren’t you?” Spike stepped back out of another attempted embrace.

Nolex chuckled. “You have no idea. Undress faster, or you’ll have to let me help.”

Spike unfastened his buckle, still walking backward, and hit the edge of the bed just as he got the belt free.

Nolex was right there to push him over and land on top of him.

“Get off.”

“I intend to.”

The robe was fallen completely open, now, and he felt the strange, rubbery texture of Nolex’s skin against his. His fingers were much too wide for their length, but strong, pressing into him and leaving round bruises everywhere. Nolex licked his neck with a thick, sticky tongue. Spike thrashed, pushing the man off, they struggled.

And then Nolex let him go. He stood at the foot of the bed, smiling, just a few hairs loosened from the struggle. He was stroking his cock fondly, like a pet. “There now, that was invigorating foreplay. Now remove your jeans, and lay face-down.”

Spike sat up and touched a sore spot on his lip with his thumb. “You know I don’t want this.”

“That’s the appeal, sweet. As is watching you lay yourself down, not forced. Not physically, anyway. But don’t fret. I am letting you face away from the action, isn’t that kind? And once the chains are secured, you can struggle to your heart’s content.”

Spike breathed hard, out his nose, and for a moment, they were both still, eyes locked.

And then Spike turned, and undid his flies.

“Gooood boy.”


	4. The Spell

Angel felt guilty. Nothing new. He tried to shove the feeling down and keep from watching the clock. It didn’t help that work was as boring as being stuck in a box at the bottom of the sea. (And that was a comparison he could make.)

He sighed heavily, blinking at a page he knew he had just read but could not recall. The temptation to just sign and have it done with was so, so great. He rubbed his sore eyes and started reading over. Boredom was no reason to fail. There were Faustian bargains in every third memo around Wolfram and Hart.

He heard someone approach and he dropped the paper gratefully. Spike stood just inside the door, arms crossed.

Angel felt a little jab of panic and wondered if vampires could get acid-reflux. “Spike,” he said. Spike said nothing. “What are you doing here?”

“Contract said he couldn’t cast any spells on me, right?”

Angel approached and noticed Spike was leaning against the door for support. Dark red abrasion ringed his neck like a shadow. And he smelled… god, he smelled GOOD, like come and death and deep, deep wounds.

“You came straight here?”

“After a shower, yeah. Believe me, I’d much rather be getting pissed, but I’m not about to sit around and wait for this spell to go off.”

“You’re sure he cast something?”

Spike shifted uncomfortably. His eyes were trained on a blank spot on the wall. “Find Percy, would you? Or Fred. Get them to wave some of their Mr. Spock gadgets around and tell me what the fuck was done to me.”

Angel stared a moment at Spike’s clenched jaw, the tension ticking under the surface, the mottled bruises disappearing under his collar, promising more hidden beneath.

“Well? What are you staring at, you pervert?”

Angel tore his gaze away and swallowed hard. “Uh…” Spike’s eyes glittered with anger. The slight bruising around the right really brought out the blue. Angel swallowed again. “What are you doing _here_ , Spike? Why didn’t you just go to the lab?”

“Maybe I hoped you’d be eaten up with guilt. Must be bloody naïve.” Spike pushed off the door and limped into the hall.

Angel followed. “Harmony, get Wesley, tell him to meet us in the lab.”

Spike was walking like a string tied his feet together, wincing at the furthest extent of each step. Angel tried to decipher if he was hiding how badly he was hurt or trying to play up that he was more hurt than he was. He could smell blood and sex pouring off of him, and Angelus rattled the bars of his cage, deep in Angel’s psyche, scenting injury, weakness, easy prey.

He shook his head, hard, and let Spike get a few more feet ahead of him, with his tasty scent.

Angel shook his head again and reminded himself not to think of the word “tasty”.

He waited a moment by a drinking fountain, smelling the clean water and metal. He hadn’t felt this close to losing control in a long time. Something wasn’t right. It was probably the magic Spike mentioned. Fortified with anger, Angel continued on his way to the lab.

Spike was sitting on an exam table, Fred behind him, pulling his shirt gingerly up over his arms. Spike hissed, “Careful!”

“Well, hold still,” Fred chided, though the humor was flat in her voice. “Oh, poor guy!” Fred flashed an angry look at Angel. Welts and burns crossed Spike’s torso, artistically placed to follow the major muscle groups. He winced and flexed as the shirt bound his upper arms and hid his face.

“Tasty,” thought Angel. He cleared his throat. “Spike says he thinks there was a spell cast on him.”

The shirt pulled free and Spike’s hair rose in a halo of static. “Berk,” Spike said.

“Spike was concerned there might be sigils carved into his back. Take a look at this,” Fred said.

Angel came to her side to see. Her fingers traced lightly over red pin-holes, hundreds of them in neat rows down Spike’s back. “They look inflamed. Like something was injected. There’s no pattern, though.”

“Can you tell what did this? Spines? Ritual dagger?”

Fred bit her lip. “I could do a sounding of the holes, get an idea of their depth. An x-ray might not be a bad idea, either.”

“Or you could ask the bloke who was there,” Spike muttered. And then flinched. “Stop, Fred. Tickles.”

“I’m glad you can still feel a tickle,” Fred said, laying her hand flat on his back. She gave Angel a dirty look that Angel was pretty sure he didn’t deserve.

Fred stepped around to the front of the table and shined a pen-light at Spike’s eyes. “What do you remember that was unusual?”

“Unusual for being ass-raped by a demon, you mean?”

“You volunteered,” Angel said.

“Fat lot of choice I had, wasn’t it?”

“Spike,” Fred set down her light and touched his arm. “Did you see what caused those stab wounds?”

Spike sucked his cheeks in and gave Angel a brief glance daring him to interrupt. “I didn’t get a good look, being face-down and all, but they were definitely needles. Long ones. He kept sticking those needles in me, and I know he wasn’t getting off on it. That was… after.”

“Was there any chanting? Burning incense?” Fred got out a petri dish and a swab and traced one of the inflamed pin-pricks.

“No, no chanting. No incense. No candles. No marks on the floor under the bed – I checked. But there had to be something. Something wasn’t right, yeah? Like his skin felt all wrong, rubbery, and he kept saying… things. Real ‘I have an evil plan’ gloating bollocks.” Spike rubbed a hand over his face. “Kept thinking there was something on his skin, something irritating. Garlic juice, maybe, but I couldn’t smell it. He smelled off. And was hung like a bloody boat-anchor. No way he’s even half-human.”

“He’s not,” Wesley said, coming in from the lab office with a tome open in his hands. “Though he is a rare half-breed of Kalmethanoid and Manooway stock. Both are well-known for breeding magic practitioners, but that’s hardly unusual in demons.”

“But he’s rare?” Angel cut in, glad to tear his eyes away from sexy, wounded Spike and concentrate on the dry, dusty world of research. “Do we have any idea what unique abilities he might have?”

“Not really. Kalmeth-manoo-oids are quite rare, and what few have been recorded are mentioned only for their remarkable existence. The two species do not find each other attractive, both preferring to mate with their own kind, or with humans. Someday I’m writing a paper on demonic species that prefer human mates. There’s something in that.”

“Humans smell good,” Angel offered, and peered over the edge of Wes’ book. “Looks like the Manowayians have a strict hierarchy based on complex inheritance laws. We should be able to find Nolex in their genealogical records.”

“That is really fascinating,” Spike said with thick sarcasm.

Fred patted a bandage she’d just put around his wrist. “In the meantime, Wes is going to perform a spell to detect any magical residue left on you.”

“And if any is found,” Wes added, closing his book, “Nolex will be in violation of his contract and Gunn can start the legal process to collect damages.”

“Which does me ever so much good,” Spike groused, and shifted uneasily again. It was clearly uncomfortable for him to sit.

“The contract was quite punitive, on both sides,” Wesley said.

Angel’s eyes lingered on Spike’s un-bandaged wrist, the rope-burns gave him ideas.

Another small head shake. “Could Nolex have done something to Spike to make him smell delicious?”

Angel was greeted by two concerned human faces and one disgusted vampire face, and realized he’d spoken out loud. He cleared his throat. “He doesn’t smell normal.”

Spike gave him a knowing look and muttered, “Fucking perv.”

Wesley cleared his throat and set about arranging dishes of herbs and candles on the exam table. His supplies were an odd contrast to Fred’s, rustic and organic against modern and clean: fantasy in a science fiction setting. “Right, if you could draw a circle on the floor, Angel, with this?” He handed Angel a bowl of orange-colored sand. “Be sparing, but try not to leave any gaps.”

“How long is this going to take?” Spike leaned back with a bored air. “I want to head back to my place and take about five thousand showers.”

Fred pulled more gauze off a roll. “Spike, if you get wet, the bandages…”

“Can be replaced,” Angel hurriedly said, looking up from pouring sand on the floor, making sure Fred caught the seriousness of the situation.

She must have, because she quickly looked away and patted Spike again awkwardly. “Yes. Right. They can be replaced after your shower.”

“It’s not like vampires need to worry about infection, pet,” Spike said. “But I do love you doctoring me up. Makes a bloke feel loved.”

Fred blushed fetchingly and stepped outside of the nearly-complete sand circle.

Wesley finished lighting his candles and stood at the ready with his book. Angel straightened up from completing the circle and nodded, and Wesley began to chant.

Spike shifted uneasily. He lifted one leg as though to cross it, but then put it down again with a small hiss of pain. Fred and Angel watched him closely. Fred out of concern, Angel because he just couldn’t look away. Wesley’s eyes flicked up now and then, between chanting words and dropping pinches of herbs into candle-flames.

At last, he closed the book. “There is no spell on him.”

Spike slumped with relief. “Thank fuck for small mercies.”

“That can’t be right,” Angel said, and grabbed the book from Wesley.

“There might be something chemical,” Fred said. “I’ll get working on these samples.”

Angel flipped through the magic tome, frowning.

“So I can bugger off now, yeah?” Spike waited for a nod from Fred before jumping down from the table. He leaned heavily left after landing, muttered a few choice words, and started struggling back into his t-shirt.

Angel found himself distracted from the book in his hands and put up little resistance as Wesley took it back. “I’ve done this spell a hundred times, Angel. There is no mystical influence on him other than his own nature.”

Spike snorted. “Don’t look so disappointed, grandpa.” He tugged his shirt all the way down and reached for his duster.

“But…” Angel opened and closed his mouth, shrugged it off. Spike was already out the door.

“Tests,” Fred said, holding up her Petri dishes. “In the meantime, maybe you should stay away from Spike?”

Numbly, Angel nodded and headed back to his office.


	5. The Assault

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one has lots of violence! Angel behaves badly! Spike gets hurt. Shocking, I know.

Angel went out hunting as soon as it was dark enough, eager to tear apart something big and bad.

He smelled Spike before he saw him. Hot and delicious. He felt drool in his mouth and was tracking the scent before he realized what he was doing.

A Fyarl came tumbling out of an alleyway and almost landed on top of Angel. He scrambled back into a fighting stance, but then Spike was on its back, stabbing furiously. The Fyarl shuddered and died, a small puddle of mucus under it.

Spike jumped free, shaking sticky demon blood from his hands. “Thought they didn’t let you out of your ivory tower,” he said.

“I thought you bathed,” Angel replied.

Spike gave him a quizzical look. “I was just killing a demon, you prig. Don’t expect you to look all dandy in an alleyway, do I? And you probably carry cologne in your man-purse.”

“I don’t carry a…”

Spike turned and walked casually away. Angel scowled and jogged to catch up with him.

“I don’t carry a man-purse. I thought you were going to shower today.”

Spike gave him a weird look. “I did.”

“That doesn’t make sense. Spike, you smell like…”

“Look, I know, all right? Showered and scrubbed until the landlady was beating on my door. God you’re thick. It’s been an interesting evening, to say the least.”

A roar sounded from a nearby alleyway and Spike sighed. “Here we go again.” With an odd sort of weariness, he set into a fighting stance and met the charging demon with a swift uppercut.

Angel, it seemed, wasn’t the only demon who found Spike currently irresistible-smelling. They fought their way back to the office through a Chirago, a displacer beast, and at least a dozen vampires.

Spike fell against a wall, gasping for breath, and looked up. “Oh HELL. Back here, are we?”

Angel had intentionally been steering them toward Wolfram and Hart whenever a moment’s fleeing offered, but managed to look around himself with feigned surprise. “Homing instinct, I guess. Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

Spike shrugged away from Angel’s offered help. “I told you, it won’t help. Fred says it’s buried deep. Should go away in a few weeks. Or I could just… bleed myself dry.” Spike said this as though considering it, tracing a recent cut on his forearm with the pad of his thumb.

Angel’s mouth hung open and he crowded Spike against the wall, staring first at the cut on his arm, then at a more convenient one on his cheek. “You really smell good.”

Spike pushed him back. “Get a hold on yourself, pillock! It’s chemical. Didn’t Fred tell you?”

Angel felt like he had to taste Spike’s blood, now, more than anything. He opened his mouth.

And received an uppercut much like Spike had given the charging Chirago. When he blinked the stars away, Spike was standing at the top of a flight of metal stairs, holding the railing and looking glad for the barrier between them.

“It’s chemical. Nolex. He injected me all over with… eu de sexy virgin or something. Fred used words like ‘flavanoids’ and ‘receptors’. I didn’t get it all.”

The handrail creaked under Angel’s white-knuckled grip. “Will it wear off?”

“Fred says it should. Maybe.”

Angel mounted the stairs, taking three of them very quicky, and then stopping himself. Spike had his hands in front of him. “It’s in your blood.”

“Yeah.”

“So I could drink your blood.”

Spike retreated up to the next landing. “Not a real good idea there, Angel.”

Angel’s entire body, particularly his fangs, thought it was a very, very good idea. “Why not? Do you want to keep running away from every demon in the city?” Angel sucked back the saliva that was building around his fangs. “It’s chemical, not mystical. I could drain your tainted blood, and feed you mine. All fixed.”

Spike paused in his retreat at the ‘feed you mine’, but he still looked unsure. “Let’s go to the lab, yeah? Fred can drain me out all nice and clinical-like. I mean, she offered to earlier. I wasn’t sure it was necessary, you know… not really wanting to see what it’s like to be bled dry. Came close once or twice and, uh, it wasn’t pleasant.”

Spike scrambled to the next landing. Angel followed at a measured pace.

“I’m glad to hear it’s chemical, Spike. I was worried it was me. Angelus. Reacting to your weakness.”

“I’m not weak, you tit!” Spike stumbled on a step, faltered, and pulled himself rapidly backward via the handrail, crawling up it like a mountain-climber’s rope.

Weak. Spike had fought a lot of fights tonight, before Angel got to him. And was still recovering from Nolex. The injuries were deep. Angel could smell them. His cock was so hard it ached, heavy and full and Christ he’d been teased all day by that smell, by the violence, by the waiting.

He crowded up close to Spike… to help him. Yes, help him up the stairs. That was why he had to hold him.

“Get your mitts off me! No! Fuck, you can’t be serious. Liam! You’re out of your sodding...”

Another corner, another stumble, and Angel couldn’t help himself, he was on the prey. The prey was struggling, but his teeth latched on, scraped bone.

Blood. It was stagnant, vampire blood. It didn’t fill his mouth in gouts, he had to fight for it, sucking and pulling. He growled in frustration. It was so very, very tasty. The body was so hard and strong, fighting him, weakening, bucking against him and twisting, pulling out of his grasp, almost. His fang pulled painfully with skin jerking away from him. He grabbed, held, dug deeper, ravishing flesh and chewing through whatever was between him and the bloodbloodblood.

He rubbed against the hard body as he drank, his cock hungry for more, more more more, but he couldn’t stop long enough to even grab his own dick. He came, sweet and hard and unexpected, and slowly Angel game down to himself again, able to think again, fuzzily. He was chewing on skin, worrying wounds that were clean of blood, and his slacks were sticking uncomfortably to his groin.

Then he realized what he was chewing on and pulled back. Spike was sprawled beneath him, half on the landing, half on the stairs up, his neck a mauled ruin, his shirt half torn off. He was still as a corpse and ashen-white.

Angel hastily bit his wrist and held it to Spike’s lips. Spike didn’t react, and blood smeared on his slack lips and ran down his cheek.

“Fuck,” Angel said, and licked his wrist until the blood slowed. He gathered Spike up, awkwardly – Spike was all long loose bones and caught on the stair-rail and the space between the stairs.

Somehow he got to his feet with Spike in his arms, and exited the stairwell. Guards came to relieve him of his burden before he’d taken five steps, and he called out for Fred.


	6. The Apology

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angel tries to apologize.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nearly pure banter, this chapter. I have the boys say things you might object to, dear fans, but, er, keep a grain of salt, k?

Fred stood in front of the door to Spike’s hospital room like an enraged sentry, and Angel winced at the force of her glare.

“Was that a bright thing to do, Angel? Was that a decent thing to do?”

“It’s not my fault. He was all… delicious and…” Angel ran a hand over his face. “Fred, this is killing me. I lost control. The smell, the violence… I just want to tell him I’m sorry.”

Fred scowled. Angel ducked his head abashedly and didn’t see her slight grin break. He was so cute when he was upset. “Okay,” she said, and groaned. “But don’t you dare bother him.”

“I won’t!”

“I mean it. His EKG shows stress and I am spanking you, mister!”

(With little to monitor on a vampire, Wolfram and Hart’s medical staff had long adapted a modified Electrocardiogram that did not, in fact, measure the heart, but the very faint electric impulses of a vampire brain.)

Angel hurriedly nodded and rushed past her, trying not to picture Fred spanking him. The last thing he needed was for Spike to smell hard-on the minute he was in the room.

Spike was swathed in bandages and wires, but his eyes were open. Angel stopped three steps into the room, confronted by that steady gaze. “Uh… hi.” He cleared his throat, looked down, and took three more steps, to be next to the foot of the bed. “I’m sorry, Spike. I lost control. I… I’m really sorry.”

“Did you fuck me?”

Angel looked up in shock. Spike was still watching him steadily. “What?”

“I just want to know. I passed out. Did you?”

“No, Spike. No, I swear. You can ask anyone. I… we were both clothed when I came to my senses.”

Spike closed his eyes. “Oh, well, that’s good then.”

“Jesus, Spike. I wouldn’t do that.”

Spike barked a single laugh. “Liar. You’re half-hard right now.”

Angel overlapped the sides of his suit-coat, then realized what he was doing and just crossed his arms. “You know I have this thing with hospitals.”

“Yeah. Restraints. Scalpels. The crippling despair. Who doesn’t love it? Oh, that’s right, anyone with a soul.”

“Damn it, Spike, don’t you dare pretend you’re better than me.”

“Don’t have any idea why I’d think that, do you?” Spike struggled to sit up in his anger and fell back with a groan. “Fuck. Everything hurts.”

“Can I get you something? Blood? Water?”

“A new arse’d be nice.” Spike’s hips shifted under the thin coverlet. “Bloody hell, that bloke was enormous. Still feels like it just happened.”

Angel grimaced and took a step back. “I’ll get you more blood.”

He was stopped at the door by a very stern looking Fred. “The EKG spiked,” she said, simply, and raised an eyebrow.

Spike laughed heartily, then, until pain cut him off into a litany of curses.

Angel edged carefully past Fred. “I’ll be in my office,” he said.

“Wait.” She stopped him in the doorway. “How are you feeling?”

Angel's shrug looked more like a squirm. “Guilty.”

She smirked. “I meant physically. You ingested a large quantity of chemicals designed to make vampires go crazy.”

Angel glanced back at Spike briefly. “So now you agree it wasn’t my fault?”

“I’ll agree you were provoked,” Fred patted his arm. “Have you been feeling odd since it happened? Any weird cravings?”

“Cheese,” Angel said, then shook his head. “No. Not really.”

“I think Nolex set this whole thing up to expose you to those chemicals.”

“Nolex wants me to sleep with Spike?”

Fred studied him a moment, amused and confused. “No. He wants to cloud your judgment. Do you want to sleep with Spike?”

“Not right now! I mean, no. Never. I mean, I wanted to eat him. That doesn’t sound right. There’s no good way to talk about this.” Angel hunched his shoulders and darted a glare back at Spike, who was watching this exchange with a smug grin, his hands now behind his head.

“It’s okay to feel that way, Angel. Spike’s a handsome guy, and this is LA.”

Angel gave her a quizzical look and it was Fred’s turn to shrug. “Well, it’d be a problem if we were in Texas.”

“Fred, I’m not interested in Spike. In that way.”

“Pouf,” Spike said.

Fred jumped, and looked a little guilty. She’d forgotten he was there. “Are you comfortable, Spike? Do you need anything?”

He dropped the smug grin for a pitiful expression. “Pain killers are wearing off, love.”

“I’ll get your doctor,” she said, and hurried out of the room with only one more stern look at Angel.

“Why does everyone think I want to have sex with you?” Angel complained.

“Because you do. Pouf.”

Angel sat in the little plastic chair by the bedside. He looked down at his clasped hands. “Not all the time. Anyway, once in a while, it’s perfectly natural. You feel the same way, right?”

“No. I’m not gay, you know. Not even a little.”

Angel smiled his crooked smile. “I’m shocked.”

“Get bent.”

“Well, that, but mostly I’m shocked you actually said ‘gay’ and not ‘poufter’ or something more offensive.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. You’re the one who put on the ‘serious conversation’ face. Is it time to hurl insults again?”

Angel rolled his eyes. “I know you have issues with homosexuality, but I also know you’ve had sex with men. First hand.”

“One ill-advised shag between two blokes who have way too many mixed feelings about each other does not a fairy make.”

Angel looked up, hopeful. “You have mixed feelings about me?”

Spike shook his head at the ceiling. “You’re so lucky I’m tied to this sodding bed.”

“Or you’d kiss me?”

“Look, Liam, I know you’re trying to be cute and apologize, but really, fuck off. I’m still recovering from being crushed under your prodigious bulk and I don’t want to think about your uncomfortable fucking feelings toward me, all right?”

Angel bit his lower lip and nodded. Slowly he stood. He reached for Spike’s hand, but then thought better of it. “All right. I’m sorry. Just… get better.”

“You leaving me the hell alone would go a long way toward that,” Spike said.

Angel nodded again and left the room. His fists clenched at his sides and he tried, really hard, not to feel hurt.


	7. The Taunt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has some, uh, self-luvin' in it.

The next morning, on his way back from a meeting with Wes, Angel was stopped in the door to his office, having seen the figure waiting in one of the guest-chairs.

“Security,” Angel called.

Nolex turned, smile as fake as ever. “Come now, Mr. Angel, is that any way to say hello?”

Harmony ran up with two guards. “He insisted he had an appointment. I tried to stop him.”

Nolex stood and gestured widely. “Am I not still a client?”

“Not one I particularly want to see at the moment.” Angel approached him as though he intended to swing a punch, but managed not to. “Why don’t you make an appointment with my secretary? Or, better yet, someone else’s secretary.”

Unperturbed, Nolex resumed his seat. “I just wanted to tell you how much I enjoyed my evening with your… freelancer.”

“Glad it was worth it.”

“And to tell you I’ve informed the police that you engage in prostitution. You’ll be getting a call from them soon, no doubt.”

The security guards tensed. Harmony said, “Omigawd! That is so mean!”

Angel held up one hand. “Harmony, take the guards and wait outside for me.”

Nolex grinned.

Angel shifted his jacket back to put his hands on his hips. “What’s your game, Nolex? You and I both know you’re as implicated in that contract as we are.”

“I’m thinking of getting a new lawyer. I have to make threats to talk to my current firm.” Nolex settled back into the guest chair, crossing his legs.

Angel loomed over him. “Considering what you did to a close friend of mine…”

“Don’t kid yourself, Angel, he’s not your friend.”

“I’ve beheaded people who have pissed me off a hell of a lot less than you are now. In this office. In that chair, come to think of it. So, as your lawyer, I advise you to tell me what you want, and then leave.”

“Like I said, I want to tell you how much I enjoyed myself. In detail. Such a tight little body, and he gave it up so beautifully. A generous and appreciative lover. And how he responded! I dare say he loved the attention.”

“That’s funny, because Spike said he hated every touch of your disgusting body.” Angel cracked his knuckles, glaring at Nolex deliberately.

“Oh, you know how boys are.”

Angel squinted at the smugly smiling demon. “You came to gloat? I don’t have time for this. Good-bye. Leave any threats you want with my head of legal.”

“Oh, no need for threats anymore. I’ve got what I wanted.” Nolex stood. Unconcerned with how close he was to Angel, he tugged down his suit-coat. “Maybe I’m just here to distract you, while my associates poison your blood supply with more chemical cocktails. We have some lust-triggering hormones. Should be just the thing to drive you over the…”

Angel’s fist connected with Nolex’s jaw with a satisfying jarring of bone. His second fist, in the gut, sent Nolex over the guest-chair to sprawl on the floor behind.

Nolex was still grinning, but his eyes weren’t in it. He propped himself up on one elbow and felt gingerly over his jaw where Angel had punched and then regarded his fingernails. “Wonderful business, chemicals. You should look into it. Human ingenuity has no bounds, and we outsource production to a dimension that quite enjoys heavy metals in their atmosphere.”

“Get up, and get out of here.” Angel turned to the door and bellowed, “Harmony!”

The security guards ran in as Nolex gained his feet. “Take this trash outside,” Angel said, stepping back to make room for them.

Nolex waved off the guards when they tried to take hold of him and straightened his suit before walking calmly to the exit. As he passed Angel, he gave him a saucy wink.

Angel felt his nails bite into his palms.

Harmony stood just to the side of the office door, watching anxiously as Nolex departed under escort. “Bossy?”

“Get Gunn. Ask him to explain again why we can’t kill that bastard.”

Harmony nodded and hurried to her desk.

“And contact catering. We need to throw out all the blood in the building.”

She looked up at him, aghast.

“Nolex implied he poisoned our supplies. Everything, Harmony. No one eats lunch in today.”

“Do we even get poisoned?” she asked.

Angel ignored her. He went back into his office, and through to the private elevator. Up in his suite, he dumped the contents of his fridge down the sink, grimacing because it smelled very good and he was hungry for lunch already.

He poured a tumbler-full of Jamison’s and downed it in three gulps. It did nothing to calm the emptiness in his stomach. He turned got another glass and turned on the television, but nothing was on, not even on ESPN. Curling? People _watch_ curling? He idly made a note to ask Wes to look into that. If anything was a front for a demonic plan…

The intercom chimed. With a groan, although he hadn’t been enjoying himself, Angel got up and went to answer it. He already had a headache, what could be worse?

“Bossy? There’s a package for you. Nolex left it, I think.”

“I really don’t care,” Angel said, then rubbed his face. “Uh, what is it?”

“You mean, I can open it?”

“Yes, Harm. Open it and tell me what it is.” He briefly worried it might be a bomb, but then, he was having Harmony open it.

“It’s a disk. A DVD. Yuck. It’s not even Memorex. It says ‘Spike #1’ on the front in Sharpie. Oh, and there’s a note: ‘Thought you’d enjoy the highlights, N.’”

Angel felt his teeth grinding. “Send it to Wes. Tell him to check it for anything mystical.”

“Right away, bossy!”

Angel hit the ‘end call’ button a little too hard. It ended up imbedded in the intercom. Again. He sighed and went back to his whiskey and curling.

God, he was hungry. And though he switched channels back and forth, all he could think about was what might be on that DVD, what Wes might be watching.

What only Angel should be allowed to see. A thought that quickly devolved into: what only Angel should be allowed to touch. He put down his glass half-full and headed for the shower.

Where he certainly wasn’t going to masturbate.

Much.

Angel sighed. His hand was already pulling his cock out, when all he intended was to strip for the shower. He forced himself to let go, though the loss of contact thrummed and whined. He felt a thick twitch as he adjusted the water to colder than he usually liked. His dick wasn’t aware of how wrong everything was – it just wanted to get off.

He quickly removed the rest of his clothes and stepped under the spray, blinking at the pleasant suddenness of water on his face. He reached blindly for the soap.

And grabbed his full, needy cock.

Angel wondered if there hadn’t been some of Nolex’s promised lust-forumla in _yesterday’s_ blood.

Of course. Why warn them ahead of time? Angel dropped his forehead against the wall in frustration. He felt fooled, and angry, and angry was a bad emotion when you were jerking off.

He gave in, adjusted the water temperature up to where he liked it, soaped himself good and slick and closed his eyes, mentally flipping through the rolodex of fantasy images. Given the extreme circumstance, he gave himself reign to the forbidden section… Darla. Buffy. Harmony chained to the desk.

But it was Spike who leapt most immediately to mind. Spike naked, crawling onto his desk like an insolent cat, smirking at him, daring him, wriggling his narrow hips in invitation and challenge. (Looking at Angel, in short, as he had never looked at him before. But this was a fantasy.)

Angel thrust hard into his hand, gripping tight, giving himself the most violent hand-job he could, grunting and making strangled noises over the susurrus of the shower. “You little bastard!” he growled, and the fantasy turned violent as well, vengeful. His hand was a blur and he came with a moan half-pained, like it was torn from him.

He wasn’t surprised to find he’d cut his hand on the hot water knob. The blood whisked away with water and semen, down the drain.


	8. The Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woops! I haven't been fic-writing at all lately. Mea culpa! But I'm not the only one feeling guilty - here's a little more of the Angel-feels-guilty fic!

Spike felt worlds better after a long, possibly drug-aided, sleep and a full transfusion, though for some reason they’d come in first thing in the morning and taken the blood away. Which was annoying. As was daytime TV. (“Fifty sodding channels, and still there’s nothing on. Whoever cancelled ‘Passions’ should be bled dry.”)

He had little to do but bother the nurses for information. (“When’s my bloody dinner?” “Oi! I’m feeling better! Let me out of here!”) And, secretly, enjoy the quiet comfort of clean bandages and healing flesh.

The next day, Fred and Harmony came to visit him. He sat up and turned off the TV. “Thank Christ. I’m about to eat my own hands out of boredom.”

Harmony waved. She was holding a big, fluffy white teddy-bear with a blue bow around its neck.

“Please tell me that’s not for me,” Spike muttered as Fred helped him sit up.

“We were hoping you’d be fit enough to leave the hospital wing today,” Fred said. “As chief of staff, I’ve been asked to do the final assessment.”

“Then why’s she here?” He nodded toward Harmony. “If you want to welcome me back to the un-living, Harm, you can do it when I’m not in a paper gown, and I’m NOT taking a cutesy gift from you. Not now, not ever. The big bad doesn’t do teddy bears.”

Harmony clutched the bear protectively to her chest and stuck her tongue at Spike. “As if I’d give you my Mr. Snuggles. I’m here on business, so there.”

Spike cocked an eyebrow at Fred, who had been carefully removing the electrodes from Spike’s forehead during this exchange. She half-shrugged and continued with her task. “We needed a vampire opinion on if the pheromone affect is really gone. I mean, the latest bloodwork shows its gone below detectable levels, but we can’t be really sure unless…” Fred shrugged again, wrapped the electrodes efficiently in a bundle and dropped them on the bedside tray. “And given recent events, we all decided Angel would be a bad choice to do that.”

Spike raised both eyebrows at Harmony. “You’re here to sniff me?”

Harmony nodded.

“And the bear is…?”

“To cleanse the pallet,” she said, and pushed her face into the back of the soft, fluffy head, inhaling deeply. “Okay, I’m ready,” she said, in a squeaky holding-breath voice.

Spike tilted back and gave her a very disturbed look as Harmony sniffed up and down his right side. At first she moved in a controlled, pre-planned path, but she circled back and spent more and more time around the bandages on his neck.

At last Spike interrupted her with an irate, “Harm!”

She pulled back and gave Fred a very solemn, “I think I need to take a taste, too. Just to be sure.”

She gave her bottom lip a tiny little lick and her eyes darted to Spike’s neck, full of eager need.

“Oh bugger this,” Spike said, and tried to stand.

Fred stepped neatly between the vampires, her palm on Spike’s chest. “Three more days,” she said.

Harmony whined in the back of her throat and moved agitatedly to try and get around Fred. “But I didn’t say he smelled nummy!”

“Oh yes you did,” Fred said, pushing Harmony ahead of her out the door.

“Oi! I can’t sodding wait in this room forever!”

“Oh yes you can,” Fred replied, closing and locking the door.

***

Angel glanced up to see Lorne standing in front of his desk, a cocktail in hand. (Somehow Lorne had convinced the human resources department it didn’t violate company policy for him to drink 24/7. Angel suspected he claimed it was a cultural necessity.)

Angel flipped the page he’d been reading over and smiled. “Hey, Lorne. Something I can do for you?”

“Oh no, sugarlump, today it’s what I can do for you. Come on, big fella, we have a meeting, you and me, for the next two hours.” He gestured up with his free hand. “Somewhere not here.”

Angel sighed. “Lorne, I’m not taking off two hours to talk about my feelings and drink something not a color found in nature.”

“I’ll have you know it’s cranberry juice that gives the Vodka Sunrise it’s delightful pink. Now get up, you big lug. Uncle Lorne has an intervention to do, and there’s no way I’m letting this cut into my brunch meeting with Orlando.”

Angel thought, briefly and wistfully, of the days when no one would bother him, for any reason. Being evil had had its perks. He stood. “Okay. I guess this can wait.”

Lorne led him back to Lorne’s office, which managed to look unique despite the identical floor plan to every other office in the building. Somewhere, Lorne had found a lit-up mirror and vanity that changed the whole color of the room. Then there were the non-regulation salmon-pink guest chairs, which were, Angel grudgingly admitted, much more comfortable, though they did make him worry he might be inadvertently getting a manicure if he stayed in them too long.

“It’s about Spike,” Lorne said, pressing a glass into Angel’s hand.

The glass, thankfully, contained something amber and undecorated. Angel sniffed whiskey and relaxed.

Lorne dropped into the chair opposite, crossing his legs. “You know Nolex isn’t really after him, he’s after you.”

“I figured that out, Lorne.”

“I don’t think you have, sugar. He’s trying to make you do something evil. Turn you dark. And I’d know that even if he didn’t hum ‘Lets Get it On’ all the time.”

“I’m not dumb. Nolex lured Spike away so he could shoot him full of make-me-go-nuts perfume. I was there for that, remember?” Angel ducked his head away from Lorne’s unblinking red eyes. “I’m avoiding Spike for now. I’m not going to let this drag me down, I promise.”

Lorne leaned forward, his hands together like he was praying. “It’s not just about avoiding the temptation. You have to go out, have some fun. The bad guys want you to be stressed out. That’s reason enough not to be.”

“I have responsibilities, Lorne. Each minute I’m not at my desk, policing policy, something evil happens.”

“Minor evils. Boring ones.”

“Preventable.”

“So was _Home Alone II_ , and yet, the world goes on. I’m just asking you to take care of yourself, lambchop. Go… kill something.” Lorne smiled meekly. “Do that dark avenger thing.”

“It’s not as easy as it used to be.” Angel closed his eyes and drained the glass. It burned just the right amount. An Islay, he guessed. Fifteen or better. He opened his eyes to Lorne still looking at him, pleadingly.

“They’re trying to make you crazy, cupcake. Don’t help them.”

Angel set down his empty glass and looked at his own clasped hands. “Lately, all I can think about is sex. I think Nolex got some chemical into my blood supply.”

“Well, I know a number of people only too willing to help with that!”

Angel gave Lorne a pained look. “Please, don’t help.”

Lorne rolled his eyes extravagantly – which looked downright, well, demonic – and reached over to pat Angel’s knee. “Get laid, Angelcakes, for all of our sakes.”

“Lorne! That’s what they want me to do!”

“Oh, Angel-pie,” Lorne shook his head sorrowfully and patted his knee again.

Angel struggled up out of the deep chair, nearly spilling the last of his drink, he downed it for safekeeping. “I should talk to Wes,” he said.

“I always wondered about you two,” Lorne said, with a mischievous smirk.

Angel couldn’t leave fast enough.


	9. The Tape

In the end, Angel was caught pacing outside Wesley’s office when Wes returned from lunch.

Wes stood, a file folder in his hands and a bemused expression on his face. “I thought vampires could sense when an office was empty.”

“Have you looked at that dvd yet?” Angel blurted out, shortcutting all the various ways he’d planned on bringing it up.

Wesley’s expression clouded. “Please step into my office,” he said, and opened the door.

Angel hovered uncertainly, too jittery to sit down, while Wesley sat down and then, to Angel’s great annoyance, filed the papers he’d been carrying before speaking.

“There are no spells or enchantments on the device itself.” He folded his hands on the desk and looked levelly at Angel. “As to its contents, they are as expected.”

Angel studied his own hands, fidgeting with a scrape on his knuckle that hadn’t yet healed. “Oh. And by ‘expected’…” Angel only caught a glimpse of Wes’s expression and it was enough to make him change tactics. “So, did you, uh, watch it?”

“Parts. I saw a few frames as I scanned for subliminal and embedded content. Unfortunately. We’ll need to have someone watch the whole thing, of course, in case there is a message in the video itself. Considering the nature of the video, I’ve asked for volunteers...”

“You let someone else see it? Wes!” Angel dropped both hands on Wesley’s desk, sending office supplies scattering.

Wes rose slightly in response to Angel’s outburst. His eyes narrowed. “You didn’t say this was a state secret.”

Angel ran his hands over his face.

“Angel?”

He wanted to order Wesley to snatch the video away from that underling right away, then fire the guy. Or wipe his memory. Or… how could he even be thinking this? Wes was just doing what he’d asked him to. Why was this so hard? It wasn’t like he was the most possessive vampire around. Not even close. He just didn’t like sharing.

“Angel!”

Angel started out of his brooding and muttering. “Yes?”

“If it’s that important to you that no one else see the footage, by all means, you can be my volunteer and check it yourself.”

“I… thanks.”

Wesley was still watching him with that too-piercing stare. “Do you know why I wasn’t going to watch it myself?”

“Because it was upsetting?”

Angel watched Wesley’s frown, wondering if he’d answered incorrectly, somehow. Wes gave him no clues, only unlocked a desk drawer and brought out the DVD in its plastic case. The case wiggled. Wesley cleared his throat.

Angel tore his gaze away and blinked at Wes. “Yes?”

“It is very likely there is no message, other than the obvious: Nolex gloating. You may want to consider that it would be in Spike’s best interest for no one to view this.”

Angel felt a brief stab of anger. _After YOU saw some of it!_ He kept his features calm and his tone neutral. “Thanks, Wes. That’s good advice.”

Good advice he wasn’t going to take. He took the DVD and tucked it into his pocket, nodded, and left before Wes could stare more holes into him.

It wasn’t that he was anxious to watch the video. It was just…

Angel was anxious to watch the video.

He stood in front of his television a long time, not thinking so much as realizing.

He knew what was on the video. He had already pictured it many times, with different nuances and added touches feared and hoped for.

He put it in the drawer below the television. Then he took it out, went into the bedroom, and put it in the drawer on the night stand. And locked it. Then he tugged the drawer to make sure the lock worked.

He fingered the key in his pocket as he walked up to Harmony’s desk. “I need to go kill something. Call my cell if there’s an emergency.”

***

Angel limped back to his apartment, tired, sore, and not really satisfied. There had been an awkward altercation with his own security forces and something about a collateral damages report.

Angel dropped his battle ax by the bed and pulled off his coat. His eyes fell on the bedside table.

He threw the coat down and ripped the drawer open, tearing the lock through the wood.

It wasn’t his fault, he reminded himself, he was under a spell. Patience had limits.

He watched impatiently while the DVD player started up with its bland blue screen. He pulled the couch closer to the screen and sat down, telling himself this wasn’t entertainment. He just had to know.

The picture wasn’t the best quality, a little pixilated, and the view was obviously from a high ceiling corner, looking down on a bed that was stripped bare and rigged with chains. A shadow moved near the edge of the screen. A figure walked into the room, talking to someone behind him. Nolex. There was no sound, and Angel couldn’t puzzle out what might be said with the poor angle and the pixels muddying up their lips. He watched Spike turn his back, unbuttoning his shirt like a patient come to the doctor. He saw Nolex come up behind him and be pushed back. More words.

When Spike hit the bed, Angel gasped, almost hearing it. The struggle was brief. And then Spike was laying down, naked, spreading his legs to reach toward the restraints. He looked over his shoulder and said something that was probably an insult or a challenge. Nolex ignored him, fastening chains to his clean white flesh.

Angel meant to hit “pause” but got “eject” and was left staring at a blue screen.

He took a long cold shower. The apartment was still bathed in ghostly blue light when he got out, and he was still achingly hard.

He turned on the sports channel and got out a full bottle of Jameson. For a while, he pretended he didn’t know what was in his DVD player.

***

Spike turned in a circle, fully dressed, in his duster, arms out at his sides. He looked like he was modeling the ensemble, but he lifted the flaps of his coat for Harmony’s nose, not her eyes. “Are we done here?”

Harmony, clutching Mister Bear to her chest, nodded. “Yeah, you just smell like you.” She frowned. “I do still kinda want to pounce you, but it’s just in a purely sexual way.”

Fred looked up from her clipboard, a little amused. “Is that normal?”

“Uh, duh? Heterosexual, here. Not that I haven’t wished I could switch teams. Men are ~~so~~ not worth it. Spikey included. But you know that. I mean, you’re into science and boring stuff, so you probably know lots of lesbians, huh?”

Spike covered his mouth, badly concealing his grin as Fred made a few marks on her clipboard. “Not really,” she said, and smiled in her polite, encouraging way. “Thank you, Harmony, you can go.”

“She means well,” Spike said, over the sound of Harmony’s heels clicking away. “Watching Harm’s mind work is kind of like watching someone try to serve punch in a colander.”

Fred batted his arm with her clipboard. “Whereas you’re the most sage of blond vampires.”

“I do all right,” he replied, with the sort of embarrassed grin people only get when they know they’ve been tricked into complimenting themselves. “Can I go then?”

Fred put the clipboard in a tray. “Do you want an escort home?”

“Not on your life.” Spike kissed her cheek. “But thanks. Can’t wait to give this sterile place my back.”

And then he did just that.

He walked briskly through the night, glad to be out, glad to be going back to his own crappy flat.

“Hey,” a voice called. Spike didn’t bother turning. He could feel the weight of the shadow, the guilt, the poofy hair.

Angel fell into step beside him and said nothing.

“Is this going to be another awkward as fuck apology, Peaches?”

Spike peered out the corner of his eye at Angel’s awkward grimace. After a beat, Angel said, “I’m glad you’re out of the infirmary.”

“Ta. Can find my own way home.” Spike lengthened his strides.

Angel jogged out in front of him, hands out to stop him. “I need your help,” he said.

His eyes were desperate and smudged with sleeplessness. Spike let out a long, low breath. “Hell,” he said. “All right, come on.”

Angel followed him the rest of the way home in grateful silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why, but this chapter was like pulling teeth. :P


	10. The Proposition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next chappie! Spike and Angel have a heart-to-heart. Um... that's all I have to say.

Spike closed the fridge and handed Angel a beer. “All right, Peaches. You’re the one who wanted to talk.”

Angel looked down at his hands, dangling the unopened bottle between his knees. “Nolex… somehow he has me on lust drugs. I’m not myself. It’s to drive me crazy.”

Spike snickered. Angel looked up, flushed and angry, to see him wipe beer foam from his lips. “C’mon, are you serious?”

“I have blisters.”

“What’s that got to…” Spike caught Angel’s earnest expression and hissed, eyebrows raising in appreciation. “Want an ice pack?”

“No. I want!” Angel cut himself off sharply with a scowl and twisted the cap off his non-twist-cap beer.

Spike smirked at him. “Know what you want, pouf.” He had one hand hooked in his belt, fingers nonchalantly framing his crotch.

How did Spike just DO that? Angel rolled the cool bottle against his sore palm. “I think you can cure me. The… lust thing. I think it’s aimed at you.”

“Worst pick-up line ever.”

“Spike, I’m not thrilled to be having this conversation, either. I’ve been trying everything I can to get over this. I’m afraid I’m going to go over the edge.”

Spike considered him, silently a moment, then shrugged. “Have Fred lock you in a nice padded cell until it wears off.” He pursed his lips. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, Grandpa, I just had to suffer three days in the sodding infirmary.”

“Would it really be so terrible to have sex with me? Do you hate me that much?”

Spike gave a weary sigh. “It’s not like that, and you know it.”

“What is it like? I’m really trying to understand, here.”

“It’s like… shame.” Spike looked regretfully into his empty beer and turned to fetch another from the fridge. “Ever since the soul I feel ashamed about things. Not all of ‘em make sense.”

Angel blinked. “You’re ashamed… that we had sex?”

“It’s not like it’s the only thing I’m ashamed of,” Spike snapped, and started to pace. “It’s just… wrong. It feels wrong. And I feel like I’m back in bloody short pants, quailing under the headmaster’s lecture on chastity.”

Spike turned to find Angel standing, a lopsided smile on his face. Spike scowled. “Wot?”

“Isn’t that a little, I don’t know…”

“Victorian?” Spike supplied with a condescending sneer.

Angel shook his head. “I have a soul, and I don’t feel ashamed to have feelings for another man.”

“That’s because you were a depraved heathen already before Darla got to you.”

Angel reached for Spike’s arm, but Spike pulled away from him. “Let’s still be men about this, Liam. I’m not looking for a sodding hug.”

Angel shrugged. “I could help you get over this.”

“Mate, I don’t want over it. I want to get on with my lonely existence and beat up bad guys.”

“You don’t have to be alone.” Angel stepped into the line of Spike’s pacing, and as he was between the sofa and the wall, he had little recourse but to stop and fold his arms. Angel said, “We don’t have to be alone.”

“That’s very movie-of-the-week, pouf, but sorry, I’m full up on caring and sharing.”

“You’ve really given up on being with anyone?”

Spike looked pointedly away, jaw tight. “Don’t deserve to be with anyone, you know that.”

Angel took hold of Spike’s shoulders and tried to kiss him. Spike twisted, so Angel’s lips landed on his jaw, but Angel held on, and Spike only fought half-heartedly until Angel rested his head against Spike’s.

“No one deserves to be alone. Not even us. Please, Spike… I need you so bad. It’ll be good, I promise. I…”

Spike pushed him away and stormed to the other side of the room – hard though it was to properly storm away in three paces.

Angel hung half hunched over, as though grasping after Spike’s departed form, and looked humiliated and miserable.

Spike swore and grabbed his cigarettes from the table. Eyes focused on the task of opening the package and taking one out, he asked, “Have you tried fucking someone else?”

“Yes.” Angel sighed and dropped onto the ratty old couch as though too tired to stand any longer.

Spike gave him the quickest glance as he flicked open his lighter. “Have you tried men? I’m sure there are some lithe, tight-bodied blonde blokes trawling the streets.”

“Yes,” Angel said, a mite exasperatedly. “I told you – I’ve tried everything I could think of. It has to be mystical.”

“Well, why the hell would some random wizard want you to shag me?”

“To drive me mad and distract me from my mission. It’s working.”

Spike closed his lighter with a flick and exhaled. He looked calmer and more confident with smoke veiling his face. “Okay.”

Angel stared at him a moment, unsure he’d heard correctly. “Okay?”

Spike shrugged and leaned to one side to tap ash into a tray on the kitchen counter. The stretch exposed beautiful lines in his arm and back. “Look, neander-brow, you came in here, what?- almost a week ago and begged me to give one up for the team, and I did, and that bloke had a bigger todger than you by far. If you’re so sure this is the only solution, fine, we’ll give it a try. One try.” He held up a hand as Angel rose to his feet. “But I get to say where and when and how.”

Angel reached forward, then thought better of a hug and put his hands in his pockets to avoid further embarrassing failures at intimacy. “Thank you,” he said, with as much feeling as he could muster.

Spike shrugged again, looking down at his cigarette. “If you could see how pathetic you look, you’d give in, too.”

“So, uh… when? Where? How?”

“Aren’t you an anxious bugger?”

Angel took a step forward, fists clenching in his pants pockets. “Blisters, Spike.”

Spike’s eyes twinkled. “Sad old git.”

“I can’t wait long. I might do something I’ll regret.”

“Like Harmony?” Spike held up his hands as Angel took another menacing step forward. “All right. Tonight, then. But not here. Your place. Bed’s bigger. And I want to be out.”

Angel squinted. “Out? Like, of the closet?”

Spike blew smoke at the ceiling. “No, you git. Out like a light. Unconscious.”

“Unconscious? Isn’t that kinda…” Angel gestured, at a loss for words.

“It’s my choice, isn’t it? I’d rather not be there.”

Angel scowled. “I don’t want this to be like that. Like… rape.”

“It isn’t. Said okay, didn’t I?”

“Don’t make it be like that.”

Spike folded his arms. “Is it, or is it not, my choice?”

Angel thought about Spike lying down, naked on a hotel bed, unresisting as a stranger bound his hands and feet. He imagined running his hand up one smooth, lightly-haired thigh and down the other. He swallowed. Spike was looking at him with a mixture of worry and resignation. “Okay,” Angel said.

“And I get dinner first. Berk. Maybe a movie, too.”

“No movie,” Angel said. He picked up his forgotten, still-full beer and drained it. “Come on.”

“Right. No time like the present,” Spike said. He didn’t look back as he walked out of the apartment, leaving it to Angel to close and lock the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notice how this one was easier to write than the last? (I mean, took less time?)
> 
> Don't you hate people who post WIPs?


	11. The Nap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asleep!Sex (which means questionable con, though Spike did agree to it.)

Spike wasn’t talking much, and he wasn’t looking at Angel as he fidgeted around Angel’s apartment. An underling arrived with a prescription bottle and a glass of water on a tray. Angel politely asked about dosage and affect, and was assured it had been tested on vampires.

Spike gazed out the window. The film of blood in his glass caught the light and seemed to glow.

Angel set the little silver tray by the bed and followed the underling to the door, just to make sure they were alone. He cleared his throat. “More blood?”

“Nah.” Spike tipped his glass back, draining the last little bit.

“Whiskey?”

Spike smiled sadly, glancing somewhere in the vicinity of Angel’s chest. He turned to the liquor cabinet and poured a hefty measure into his glass. Droplets of blood swirled in the amber whiskey.

Angel would never have done that. It was so… messy. Angel twitched and felt useless, superfluous, impatient, and painfully hard.

Spike smiled again. His back was to Angel, but Angel caught the lift in his cheek. The little snot was enjoying the gentle torture. Finally he set his empty glass next to the whiskey decanter and wandered into the bedroom. He picked up the bottle of pills, shook it, and squinted at the label. “Takes twenty minutes to take full affect. Are you going to wait?”

Angel felt his teeth pressing hard. “You can trust me,” he said.

Spike gave a short laugh and shook out a few pills.

“You don’t have to do this, Spike. It doesn’t have to be something you’d want to miss.”

Spike actually looked at him for the first time since entering the apartment. His smile didn’t reach his eyes. He popped the pills into his mouth and, quite infuriatingly, winked.

Angel poured himself a glass of whiskey – a fresh glass. He quaffed it quickly and reminded himself that Spike could have said no altogether.

For some reason, though, he didn’t believe that.

He came back to the bedside, tired of playing the penitant, and found Spike had lain down in the center of the bed, fully clothed, his hands behind his head.

“You could undress,” Angel said.

“I’m sure you know how all the buckles work.”

Angel sat on the foot of the bed with a heavy sigh and picked up Spike’s foot, yanking the boot off. Spike did nothing to help. When Angel got the second boot free he turned and saw Spike frowning at him.

“What?”

“Peaches…” Spike shook his head, sat up, and gathered the hem of his t-shirt in his hands, making to pull it off. He fell over as he raised his arms.

Angel pulled the stretched t-shirt off of Spike’s face to find him blinking in sleepy confusion. Spike smiled lopsidedly and mumbled, “Think it’s startin’ to work.”

Angel got the t-shirt the rest of the way off and pulled Spike up into his arms, suddenly feeling like he had to pull him out, like Spike was going to drown. “No, don’t do this. Don’t leave me alone.”

“Such a romantic,” Spike murmured. His head rolled against Angel’s shoulder, and he added, “prat.”

Spike’s eyes closed, his mouth lay lax, a little open. Angel shook him and his eyelids fluttered, revealing just a sliver of glittering iris before closing again.

Unaccountably angry, Angel threw Spike down on the bed. His body hit and bounced. Angel grabbed him again and smacked him, hard, twice.

There was a soft groan, and then nothing. Angel’s fingers dug into unresponsive shoulders.

He realized he was leaving bruises and let go. This wasn’t the way to convince Spike he wasn’t going to hurt him.

Angel finished undressing Spike. It took a long time to work his tight jeans down his legs, and that was good, it gave Angel time to achieve a measure of calm. He rolled Spike, now bare, onto his stomach, and he moved like dough under his hands. By the time Angel was working lubed fingers into Spike, he wasn’t angry anymore, just hungry, and quietly grateful that his ordeal was about to end.

He worked carefully, long, making sure he prepped Spike good and thoroughly, though the wait was agony. His eyes watched his fingers working, and his cock throbbed, knowing it would be there soon, but not soon enough.

Pliant flesh accepted him, welcomed him. Angel wrapped his arms around Spike, pushing him down as he thrust up, enjoying the soft limbs falling loosely against him. He kissed Spike’s lax face and thought he sensed agreement unspoken there.

If only he were awake, to push back, or at least be stiff and resistant, rather than falling away from him on each thrust.

Angel felt his frustration building. He forgot his high ideals and grabbed hard to the _thing_ he was fucking, forcing it back and forth on his cock faster and faster, building the sweet friction until his skin caught fire.

Angel came grunting and cursing and collapsed on top of the unresisting corpse beneath him. Absently he ran his hand over a smooth flank and felt completely, utterly unfulfilled.

It didn’t work. He was lying on top of Spike, spent, his cock still nestled in the sloppy confines of his ass, and all he could think about was how much he wanted to fuck Spike.

What was he supposed to do now? He turned Spike onto his side, groaning at the sensation as his dick slipped free. He slapped Spike’s face lightly. There wasn’t the slightest response. He let Spike fall onto his back and reached for the pills. His eyes almost crossed reading the tiny print on the back of the bottle. “Duration: between four and six hours”.

Angel threw the pills across the room.

Spike lay in a lazy half-twist, his arm draped over his face. Angel moved the arm and nudged his hip to get him to lay flat. He rubbed the gentle indent where Spike’s thigh met his torso. The skin was moist with sweat, still, and the smell made him hard again.

Well, he had four hours to kill.

Angel’s cock slipped easily in its own leavings. He nuzzled Spike’s jaw, feeling the faint stubble beneath the surface of the skin, then moved up to the slack lips, licking and lavishing them.

He took it slow, working himself lazily and really enjoying every nuance of the body beneath him. He stroked and fondled and mapped. He kept his eyes on Spike’s face and reminded himself what he was doing, keeping a narrative in his mind. “I’m fucking Spike. I’m lifting his thighs for a better angle. I’m feeling the muscles behind and above his knees. I’m moving his foot closer. I’m stroking his instep.”

No one could say Angel didn’t try his hardest to satisfy the need within him. He tried four times, and was working on a fifth when Spike made a soft, waking noise under him.

Angel stilled. His cock vibrated – really it felt like it vibrated with joy, waking like a sounding iron to that sound. He had One of Spike’s legs caught up in the crook of his arm, trying a half-twisted position that was a little challenging. He slipped his arm out from behind Spike’s knee and let the leg fall. A small crease formed between Spike’s brows.

He kissed him. “Spike? Spike, wake up.”

Angel bit his lip, feeling a contraction around his dick. The brow-crease doubled.

“F-wha?”

Angel resisted the urge to thrust hard, moving his cock ever so slightly as he held Spike’s head, tilting him up so he could look directly into those opening eyes. “It didn’t work, Spike. I’m sorry, it didn’t work. I think you need to be awake.”

Spike coughed, which sent another muscle flex down his stomach to tease Angel’s cock. Angel pressed deeply and kissed him. “Please. Please, Spike. Please. Let me do this. I’ll be so good to you. I’ll take care of you. I’ll never leave.”

“Liam?” Spike’s eyes focused. He looked beautiful and confused. Angel kissed him again, long and hard until sputters of resistance gave way and he was kissed back.

Angel broke the kiss to murmur, “Please?” He thrust in time to the question, his dick asking just as anxiously, just as eagerly. “Please, Spike. Please say it’s okay.”

“Didn’t work?”

“Right. It didn’t work. Oh god, I need this.”

Spike’s face scrunched with a stifled yawn. He tilted his head back and looked to the side.

Angel kept up his litany of begging to do what he was already doing, though of course he was barely moving, making the gentlest little thrusts lest he be pushed away.

Spike’s hand touched Angel’s cheek. “Sorry the drugs didn’t work. Go on, Angel. S’all right.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.” Angel peppered him with kisses, and got a half-hearted chuckle in response. Angel shifted, lifted Spike by the shoulders and sank into a really deep, thorough fucking.

“I love you,” he said, and Spike wrapped his arms around him.


	12. The Morning After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter! This one is all fluffy and lovey-dovey Spangel! Really! Stop looking at me like that!

Angel awoke feeling completely, utterly peaceful. He inhaled deeply, stretching his arms overhead. He felt a slight soreness in his shoulders and the smooth wood of the headboard. He turned his head to see Spike watching him.

“So… all cured?” Spike asked.

Angel reached for Spike, to hug him, but stopped when Spike pressed his chin into his chest and looked like he might bolt. Angel bit his lip and, awkward and stupid as it felt, patted Spike on the arm. “Yes. Thank you.”

“Do me a favor, and don’t mention it. Really. Ever.”

Angel scooted back a little. “Sorry. I’m just so relieved. After this week… oh, um… how are you? Uh, are you okay?”

Spike gave him a long, unreadable look, and then slipped off his side of the bed, pulling the coverlet with him, which he draped around himself like a big red toga. “Just had to make sure you woke up all yourself and soul-having. Going to take a shower, if you don’t mind.”

Angel jumped to cut him off. “Spike!”

“Angel,” Spike said, in a close approximation of the same tone.

Angel scratched his head, suddenly aware that he was naked, and somewhat pungent from the long night’s exertions. “What is this?”

“You being a berk.”

“No. Come on, the silence and that thing with not looking at me. I need to know you’re okay. That this… that it was okay.” Angel put his hand on Spike’s bare shoulder. “Tell me it wasn’t horrible.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Let’s not turn this into a chick flick, Peaches. I’m not scarred for life, just sore and filthy, so if you don’t mind I’d like to wash up. In the shower. Alone.”

Reluctantly, Angel dropped his hand. “Right. Sure. Go ahead. I’ll…” He scratched dried lube on his thigh, glanced down, and remembered he was completely naked. “I’ll get dressed.”

Spike gave him a condescending pat on the arm and continued on to the bathroom, dragging the quilt like a royal robe behind him.

Angel started pacing the moment the bathroom door closed. This was terrible, he thought. What was he supposed to do to keep Spike here? Because, more than anything, he suddenly really wanted to keep Spike there. Just long enough to talk. Long enough to keep Spike from pretending nothing had happened.

His eyes fell on Spike’s discarded coat, and he got an idea.

Angel ran about, cleaning up quickly, calling Support Services for new sheets and laundry pick-up. But he needn’t have hurried. Spike stayed in the shower long enough that housekeeping came and went, the room was in perfect order, and Angel had ample opportunity to fuss with his appearance. He changed shirts three times. He’d started out with the stripped maroon silk, but that was his go-to date shirt and he wanted to look attractive, but not to look like he was trying to look attractive. (Sadly, the leather pants had to be forgone, too. They were not only obvious, they were too “Angelus” and that was not an association he wanted Spike to make.)

When Spike finally emerged in a cloud of steam, a bath towel around his hips, Angel was confident he’d made the right clothing choices. He had two glasses of whiskey poured and set on the coffee table, and sat in the armchair nearest the bathroom with the striped maroon silk shirt in his lap. He assumed a casual pose, a book propped open in one hand. Spike didn’t do more than glance at him, however.

Spike wandered around the bed. He touched the coverlet briefly, looking a little surprised at its appearance. He’d probably left the other one in a sodden heap on the bathroom floor. He paused by the nightstand, searching the ground. “Where’s my kit?”

Angel cleared his throat and stood. “There was… stuff on it. On your clothes, I mean. I had them taken down to be cleaned.” He passed the silk shirt from one hand to the other and then held it out. “Here. You can wear this for now. I mean, it shouldn’t be long.”

Spike gave him a suspicious look, but took the shirt anyway. He let his towel drop and held the shirt up, inspecting it.

“It’s just a shirt, Spike. I didn’t put any ‘poof’ cooties or ‘girly cologne’ on it.”

Spike shrugged into the semi-transparent maroon silk. It became fully transparent where it rested on his wet skin. He tugged the sleeves down and rolled his shoulders. “You know you’re not fooling anyone, even yourself,” he said. He buttoned up the front of the shirt as he wandered the room, still looking for something.

“I just thought you wouldn’t want to wait wrapped in a towel.”

“Right.” Spike picked up one of the whiskey glasses and sniffed it.

Angel tried to shrug nonchalantly. “Come on, Spike. If I wanted to see you naked, I could have just watched you shower.”

Spike raised an eyebrow and set down the whiskey glass. “All right then, where’s a pair of trousers I can borrow?”

Angel picked up the whiskey glass and pressed it into Spike’s hand. “You look really, really good like that.”

“Yes, Peaches, I know you’re a big sucker for Willy in his daddy’s shirt, but I’m not in a mood to play right now.”

“This isn’t a game.” Angel held onto Spike’s arm when he started to turn away. “Don’t tell me last night didn’t mean anything.”

Spike responded flatly, “It didn’t mean anything.”

“Why do you always have to be so flippant? I’m saying you just might be the love of my life.”

Spike jerked out of Angel’s grip and took a few steps back. “You’re speaking under the influence, mate. You just had a spell knocking your brain around.”

Angel was left holding the whiskey glass. He held it close to his chest. “The spell made me horny. God… insanely horny. But that wasn’t what made me want to hold you while you slept, that makes me not want to let you go. I had a moment of clarity last night. You… you’re the only person on earth who truly understands me. The evil and the good in me.”

“I understand that you’re a sad, lonely old sod and you’re hot for my tight little body.”

“I love you.”

Spike winced like it was a slap. “Heard you the first time.” He snatched up the whiskey glass that was still on the coffee table and downed its contents.

“I know it’s been a while for you, but when someone says that, they want to hear a response.”

Spike was turned half away from Angel, and he fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, as though wanting to make it longer. “What am I supposed to say, Liam?”

“Tell me you feel even a little bit the same. Tell me I have a chance in hell. Or tell me you don’t care about me at all, but don’t lie to me.”

Spike folded his arms, turned fully to face Angel, and said, “I loathe you. You haven’t a chance in hell.”

Unbidden, Angel’s lips quirked into a grin. “You suck at lying.”

Spike sighed, defeated. “Just give me some pants.”

“Yours will be up soon.” In three to four hours, if the cleaning staff obeyed his instructions. Angel set his hand on Spike’s bicep, and this time Spike didn’t try to get away. Angel felt the smooth silk and the firm muscle, moving his hand up and down. “Come on, let’s watch some tv.”

“No hockey,” Spike said, and dropped onto Angel’s couch in his usual splayed-leg pose. Which left everything exposed. Angel was a little unable to think for a second. Or move. Spike rolled his eyes and crossed his legs, adjusting the shirt-tail over them. “You have a gift for making me feel fucking uncomfortable, Angel.”

“But you love me.” Angel picked up the remote and settled down near, but not too near to Spike.

“In a weird, fucked-up sort of pathetic way. I wish I didn’t.”

Angel smiled and turned on the television. He let Spike pick the channel and refilled his glass. If he played his cards right, Spike would be too drunk to leave by the time his clothes arrived.

“This is nice,” Angel said, after a good companionable silence had decended.

Spike shrugged, surfing past some commercials.

“I’m glad we’re getting some time to just hang out,” Angel said. “Things could have been, well a lot worse. I mean, more awkward.”

Spike nodded. Not looking away from the screen, he said, “Glad the drugs didn’t work. You were right. Would have felt like a rape, waking up all buggered and not remembering it.”

Angel took a sip of whiskey. He watched Spike shift in his seat, a brief grimace flickering over his features. He smiled. “Are you really sore?”

“Smug git,” Spike said, and threw a throw-pillow at him.

Angel laughed. Yes, this was good.


	13. The Discovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unlucky 13! Unlucky for Angel, that is. Though he starts off doing quite well with his manipulative ways...

Spike’s head was a little light, what with all the good whiskey and having not eaten, so he wasn’t quite sure how he ended up pressed against the arm of the couch, with a lap and a mouth full of Angel. It wasn’t unpleasant, but he had to push the pawing Neanderthal back. “Hey now…”

“Come on, Spike. You’re not telling me you don’t like this.” Angel only pulled back far enough to talk and ran his hands up and down Spike’s arms in what was supposed, no doubt, to be a caress, but sure felt like being held in place.

Spike coughed. “I know you’ve got this crazy romantic idea about us, Liam, and I’m okay with us bein’… well, uh… friends?”

“We’re friends,” Angel agreed, cradling Spike’s head in his hands. “That’s all. And if you feel uncomfortable with a few little kisses, just tell me.”

“I feel uncom…”

Angel cut him off with a long, hard kiss.

Spike crawled backward, off the edge of the couch, and in his inebriated state did not make an elegant job of it. His head spun as he hit the floor and he was confused for a moment why the wall in front of him had ceiling tiles and light fixtures on it.

And then it had an upside-down Angel in front of it.

“God damn it, Spike. What is wrong with you?”

“’M drunk.”

And then Angel was hauling him sideways – or up, rather, and then shook him hard, which was even more unpleasant than hitting the floor had been.

“Why are you being so selfish?”

Spike squinted. “Selfish?”

“Do you have any idea how it makes me feel, that you can’t stand to be near me?”

That knock on the head must have been worse than Spike thought. He rubbed a hand over his face. “’S not like that.”

“You’re sure making me feel like it is. I’m not asking for sex here. I know _that’s_ too much to ask.”

Angel’s tone implied that it wasn’t, and Spike wondered how he had ended up on the defensive in this conversation. “Not leading you on, Angel. Just waiting for my knickers to get back from the laundry, right?”

“Your clothes already arrived. You weren’t paying attention.”

“Oh. Then I’ll be off.” Spike swam past Angel’s arms, stumbled and landed against the couch. “We can have this particular fight later.”

“Don’t be stupid. You’re too drunk to go anywhere. You’ll pass out on the sidewalk and turn to dust at sunrise.” Big hands hoisted Spike up and settled him on the couch again. Spike let him. He was teetering between euphoric and sick, and long familiarity with this state taught Spike that being still was a good way to stay on the euphoric side of that line. He sighed and relaxed in petting, caressing hands.

“Let me take care of you,” Angel said.

“All right,” Spike said. And then they were right back where they had started, on the couch, Angel above him, kissing him. And Spike relaxed, because it was too much work and hassle to protest, and really, kissing Angel was nice. He nuzzled the slight stubble on Angel’s chin, nipped at his throat, and laughed when Angel growled a little.

***

Spike woke up with that dry taste in his mouth – like he’d been licking carpet or something, and not in the fun way – that let him know he’d had a bit too much the night before. All he had on was a flimsy silk shirt, and that was rucked up around his armpits. A sunbeam lay across his torso, and he startled in fear before he realized he wasn’t burning.

A shadow passed over him, and then brisk footsteps left and returned. A cold glass of water pressed into his hand. “You’re finally awake,” Angel said. “Aspirin. Take it.”

“Shite doesn’t work,” Spike muttered, but he took the little white pills from Angel’s hand anyway. Angel sighed and walked away.

Every move hit his hung-over head like a ball peen hammer, but Spike managed to shift to a sitting position and tug his shirt down without dropping the pills. Spike chewed the aspirins and washed them down.

Angel stomped around the apartment. Spike watched him tie his tie with angry motions. “What’s got your knickers in a twist?”

Angel flipped the end of his tie over itself as he spoke sarcastically, “Why yes, Spike, thanks for asking if you can stay the night. And thanks for asking me if you can have more booze instead of, oh, just drinking me out of house and home.”

Spike blinked and stared. “You offered.”

Angel sighed, finished fussing with his tie, and shook his head.

“What?”

Angel roughed up his hair and kissed him. “I’m going to work. Try to get off the sofa today.”

“Oi! You were the one who wanted to sit around drinking!”

“You’re welcome,” Angel said from inside the closing elevator.

Spike stared after him a moment and wondered how Angel always managed to leave him feeling a step behind. Then he noticed a warm mug of pig’s blood was waiting for him on the coffee table. “Oh thank Christ.” Warmth and blood soothed his pounding head and left him in a suitable state to find his clothes and put them on.

***

Fred smiled when he sauntered into the lab. “Back so soon?”

“Feels like I never left,” Spike muttered. At Fred’s quizzical look, he shrugged. “The poof couldn’t wait to have it out with me. Dragged me right back here last night.”

Fred gave him a knowing, sidelong look as she typed on her computer. “It’s good to see you two getting along.”

“Thanks. Good to know my awkward predicament is amusing to you.”

Fred turned and squinted at him. “Predicament?”

***

Angel’s door slammed against the wall as Spike strode through it. Angel jumped up. “Spike what are…”

Spike strode right up to the desk and punched Angel in the nose.

Angel dropped his hand from his nose and glared. “I let you get drunk on my couch. I fed you…”

“Not quite as much as I did for you, is it, poor, bespelled Angel?” Spike paced. “I felt sorry for you, tosser!”

Fred ran in, wringing her hands. “Don’t kill him!”

Angel wasn’t sure who she was talking to. He frowned. “Fred, what’s gotten into Spike’s tiny brain?”

“Ha!” Spike said before Fred could answer. “That’s really funny, because either your brain is particularly tiny, or you did this on purpose.”

“I didn’t do anything.” Angel scowled.

Fred stepped between them, hands out, though she looked anxiously back and forth. “Angel… Spike says you told him you had a lust spell on you.”

“I did.”

“No, you didn’t. Remember, you asked me to check?”

Spike’s eyes were ice cold. “Yeah, Peaches, remember that?”

Angel looked from Fred to Spike. “You have to believe me. I…”

“No, I don’t.” Spike turned on his heel and stomped out of the office.

Fred fidgeted. She spoke quietly but firmly. “We checked the blood supplies, your sweat, your blood, everything. Because Nolex threatened to do that, we made sure.”

Angel fell back in his seat, feeling like he’d been knocked there by Spike’s punch.


	14. The Arrest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha! I just tossed my outline out the window because I was bored with it. Let's see how that goes for me...

Spike felt angry and betrayed when Fred revealed that Angel hadn’t been under a spell after all. He felt angrier and more betrayed when Angel had acted so innocent and offended. And now he was impotently running away, through the sewers. Fun fact about the sewers of LA: not particularly vampire friendly. Liable, in fact, to have large overhead grates and the occasional culvert opening. Even shit got sun in southern California.

So his mood was not in any way improved by the time Spike kicked open the sewer-level access door to his apartment building.

He’d had a place, damn it, in Angel’s little coterie. It wasn’t much of one, but it was a place, and now he couldn’t go back there. No way in hell.

He stomped up the metal stairs from the sub-basement to the basement and headed down the corridor, hands in his pockets and eyes on the greasy old carpet.

“Well, aren’t you _fine_ for something that crawled out of the sewer!”

Spike’s head snapped up. A man – human by the smell – was leaning against Spike’s door, leering at him.

“Whoever you are, you have five seconds to bugger out of here with your lungs intact.”

“Nolex sent me.”

“Make that two seconds.”

The man peeled himself away from the door hips-first, in a move no doubt intended to look sexy, but it only made Spike clench his jaw tighter. “He said you’re a real good time, and cheap too.”

Spike kicked him in the chest. He skidded backward along the cheap carpet, upsetting the pot of geraniums by Mrs. Wu’s door.

Spike’s hands shook a bit as he got out his key and got it into the lock, but he lost no time in entering his apartment and slamming the door behind him. He stared at the door, panting a bit. “Coward,” he muttered. He was a coward. He didn’t want to fight a human. He didn’t want to hear the labored breathing and struggle to stand.

There was a loud thump on the door. “Check your green card before you assault someone, asshole!”

Spike flinched from the noise and immediately felt angry for it. He wasn’t the one to flinch! And he certainly didn’t feel guilty for kicking that chump.

“Check your own green card,” he shouted, and stomped to his fridge. He was way over-due for a beer.

“Asshat.” He twisted off a cap and took a long, satisfying swig. “Vampires don’t need sodding green…”

Someone pounded on the door. “Police. Open up.”

Spike had not had to respect the law for about a century, so he was perhaps to be forgiven for shouting, “Bugger off!” and finishing his beer.

Then the door burst open with a splintering sound.

****

Angel sat in Wesley’s office, hands in his lap, feeling eerily like a truant called in to the headmaster. “You’re absolutely sure?”

“We’ve just gone over results from 18 different tests.”

“But, I mean…”

Wesley sighed and took off his glasses. “Angel, it would take far more effort to cast the spell and hide it from my detection than to mislead you by suggestion.”

“But…”

“Yes, yes, you ‘would never have acted that way’.” Wes was inching into patronizing with his tone. Before Angel could protest gain, he raised his hand. “Be that as it may, Spike will recover, I’m sure. He bounces back pretty quickly from what I’ve seen. I’d advise you simply to pretend it never happened.”

Angel blinked. “You don’t think I should apologize?”

“If Spike was not British, or male, perhaps,” Wes replied with a slight smile. “I don’t think an apology would be taken in the sense it was meant.”

There was a brisk knock and Gunn poked his head in the door. “Angel. Glad I found you. It’s Spike.”

Wesley set a hand on Angel’s shoulder, part comfort, part keeping him in his chair. “Has he returned?”

Gunn shook his head and half-laughed. “He’s been arrested.”

Angel threw up his hands and looked at Wesley as though this forgave all his previous behavior.

“Spike is known to deal with emotional problems dramatically,” Wes said. “I suppose it’s not surprising he ran afoul of the law so soon after your, uh, altercation.”

Gunn shrugged. “Angel, you’re sort of his next-of-kin. The firm has no interest in keeping Spike in the country, but I thought you might.”

Angel blinked, then nodded. “Yeah. I mean, yes. Start the legal machine working to get him out.”

Gunn flicked a little salute and stepped back out into the hall.

Angel hurried after him. “Wait, Gunn. One thing.”

Gunn paused, waiting expectantly. Angel fidgeted a little and then sighed at his own stupid nervousness. “Did Spike call, I mean, for me?”

“Nah, man. Legal just has a flag on his name if it comes up in the police band.” Gunn noticed Angel’s disappointed look and slapped him on the bicep. “But hey, I’m sure he just didn’t think of it. Probably too busy trying not to get frog marched through sunlight.”

“Right,” Angel said, and awkwardly returned the arm-pat. “Thanks, Gunn. Let me know when he’s out.”

***

“Your lawyer’s here for ya,” the guard said, opening the cell door and looking off down the hall.

The casual dismissal was beginning to remind Spike why he enjoyed killing people. He stood, chains jangling, and followed the guard down the hall. He wasn’t particularly looking forward to seeing Angel, and who else would pose as his lawyer?

Spike found out who else when he stopped dead in the door to the interview room and had to be tugged forward by the guard.

His long, shaggy hair was in strange contrast to the neat black suit and conservative tie.

“You!”

Lindsey McDonald stood, smoothing the front of his suit. “Hey, Spike.”

The guard grabbed Spike’s arms. He shook him off, a bit too easily for the guard’s taste, and two more entered the room.

Lindsey smiled. “They said you’ve been a handful.”

“You’re dead,” Spike said.

Lindsey’s smile vanished so thoroughly he looked like a man who had never smiled in his life. “Actually I was sucked into hell alive, thanks.”

“You can go back there for all I care. I’ve got nothing to talk to you about, ‘Doyle’.”

“Oh, I think you will.” Lindsey flipped a file folder open on the table. “I didn’t get a work release from hell to chat. The guys paying my retainer for this little service aren’t exactly puppy dogs. If I were you, I’d be more than a little interested in why _they_ are interested.”

The guards were gripping his arms tightly, sure he was going to bolt one way or another, but slowly Spike nodded, and they eased him forward until he could drop into the seat opposite Lindsey.


	15. The Lawyers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If nothing else, Spike's all chained up throughout!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't wait to post this!

“You’re the lawyer for William Pratt.”

Gunn nodded.

The cop shook his head. “Come on, man. How many lawyers does a thug need?”

Gunn raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“He’s already with his lawyer. Take a number.”

The cop turned purposefully away from Gunn, signaling an end of the conversation. Scowling, Gunn squeezed into a corner of the station lobby near the pay phones and opened his blackberry. “Lewis? It’s Gunn. Can you find out what counsel is registered to represent Spike’s defense? People verses William Pratt. The case number should be on the daily memo.”

Gunn shifted to face the other way as a guy he thought he recognized from his street days was staring at him steadily from the other side of the room.

Lewis was typing. “It’s us, sir.”

“Us? You mean Wolfram and Hart?”

“Yes. Registered Counsel: Wolfram and Hart. Wait a tick.”

Gunn snuck an over-shoulder glance back at the guy staring at him. He was, fortunately, now in an animated discussion with a woman in far too tight clothing for her body size. “That sounds like a bad ‘wait a tick’, Lewis. What’ve you got for me?”

“Sir… this injunction was filed within seconds of Spike’s arrest. There’s no way we could have done that. No one could, unless they knew ahead of time that he was getting arrested.”

Gunn’s hand lowered from his ear. Faintly he heard, “Sir?”

Frowning he raised the phone again. “Find out who exactly filed that paperwork and who authorized it. And tell Angel what’s going on.”

“What are you going to do, sir?”

“Probably get arrested myself,” Gunn sighed. Pocketing his cell phone, he walked purposefully across the room.

***

Lindsey spread papers in front of Spike “You’ve been charged with assault, kidnapping…”

“Kidnapping?”

“It’s a trumped-up charge. During the assault, short as it was, you prevented your victim from leaving the premises. You also resisted arrest and assaulted an officer.”

“I bloody did not!” Spike glared at the papers as though they might change their minds if he intimidated them. “I sure as all fuck would know if I hit a cop.”

“Spike,” Lindsey set his hands heavily on the papers. “They’re trumped up charges, okay? They’re exaggerated, and some of them, I’m sure, are made up whole cloth. Will you stop getting pissy and listen to me while I try to save your worthless ass?”

Spike leaned back in his hard metal chair and gave Lindsey a long, silent look of disdain. “I’m a vampire. What are they going to do? Lethal inject me?” Spike smirked and raised one shoulder. “I’m going back to my cell, fake my death – which is oh so hard for a dead man to do, and slip out the morgue.”

“You’ve been set up, Spike. You think the people doing that don’t know you’re a vampire?” Lindsey stood, leaning over the table. “You think you’re going to prison? You aren’t even going to make it to the courthouse. Nolex is going to get you on a nice, quiet work release, all delivered to his door in vampire-proof chains.”

They held each other’s gaze a long, intense moment. Spike finally looked down. “And you’re helping me, what, out of the evilness of your heart?”

“You think I have the slightest bit of choice what I do or don’t do, anymore? I am the senior partner’s bitch, thanks to your boyfriend Angel, and _they_ have a vested interest in soulled vampires.”

Spike tried, and failed, not to look petulant. “Thought they were betting on Angel being their wonder boy.”

“These entities don’t get where they are without hedging bets,” Lindsey snorted. He went back to arranging papers, pulling the charges back into a pile and setting new ones in front of Spike. “Here’s the deal. You sign this, and it gives Wolfram and Hart power to act on your behalf. This one is a work contract, back-dated. We stop the deportation proceedings first, with a statement that you are working for us and we have already applied for your visa. We’re going to make it look like you’re a very special expert in your rarified field, a valuable commodity for the country.” Lindsey grinned.

Spike pushed the papers back. “I’m not working for sodding Evil, incorporated!”

“They aren’t going to ask you to hurt anyone. All they want is you on the payroll. You can slack like a champ.” Lindsey pushed the paper toward him again. Spike stopped it with his cuffed hands, and for a moment there was an awkward reverse tug-of-war that mostly resulted in crumpled paper.

Lindsey snatched the papers back and smoothed them against the desk. “I know you have no reason to believe me, but I like you, Spike. You were always my choice for champion…”

“Ha!”

“…and I’m telling you two signatures are all that stand between you and being Nolex’s rape toy. Come on!” Lindsey slammed the paper back down in front of Spike.

And the door to the room burst open, Gunn sliding to a halt, turning and closing the door behind him. Panting, staring up at the ceiling, he muttered, “What part of ‘here’s fifty bucks, make a distraction’ means start shooting up the fucking police department?”

“Charley?”

“Hey! This is a private meeting between me and my client.”

Gunn focused on Lindsey. “I don’t believe it,” he said.

“You’re telling me,” Lindsey regarded Gunn steadily. “Some of us had to go through law school to get where you are.”

“Oh that is just IT,” Gunn said. The lawyers advanced on each other, chests out.

“Oi! Much as I love to watch lawyer-on-lawyer action, did you just say someone is shooting up the place, Charley?”

Reluctantly, Gunn stepped back from confronting Lindsey and grabbed Spike’s bicep. “We have to run.”

Lindsey held up his hands. “Don’t do this. Are you nuts? Don’t run out on the cops!” He tried to stand in their way. "This is a stupid plan!"

“Beats yours,” Spike snarled, and, with just a little twisting and tugging to get his chains around the chair, he was following Gunn out the door.

They barreled down a corridor past people running both directions, turned a corner, and were face-to-face with a dozen cops, their guns drawn.

Spike looked left and right, trying to find a way out, but Gunn already had his hands raised. Spike could run for it, but they might kill Charley while he did it. He raised his shackles as high as the chain to his feet let him. “I can’t believe we’re going to have to hear sodding Lindsey say….”

“Yeah,” Gunn cut him off. “Just leave that thought hanging, all right?”


	16. The Capture

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I crawl out from under my hangover to give you another short chapter of "Darkening Angel" where things just keep going bad for poor Spike.

“I told you,” Gunn said, voice calm and level, “I heard gunshots and was concerned for the safety of my client. There were no officers at hand so I was escorting my client to the holding area, where I thought he would be safer.”

The detective set her hands on the table. “We’re really supposed to believe that? C’mon. You were caught, red-handed, assisting in an escape. We have your buddy Dione in custody, and the fifty bucks you gave him with your fingerprints on it. Now are you going to stop wasting my time or do we just do this all night?”

“I’m sure I don’t know how this person got my money, but I might have dropped it while getting my phone out of my pocket.” Gunn tilted his head slightly, as if to say “stick that in your testimony and smoke it”.

The detective’s eyes narrowed. “You lawyers, you’re all ‘sanctity of the law’ when…”

The door to the interrogation room opened with a rusty squeak. “Detective Levine?”

Gunn watched the whispered and frenzied conversation between the uniformed officer and the detective. It could be good or bad news, but Gunn tried not to anticipate. That is, until Detective Levine got angry and started whispering a little too loud to be unheard. That was definitely good.

She stomped back up to the table. “You’re free to go.”

Gunn rose hastily. “It was a pleasure, detective.”

“One of these days your law firm is not going to have a judge waiting in the wings with all the right papwerwork, and when that day happens…”

“Lady, I wish you luck,” Gunn said, grimacing a little at the sudden vertigo of realizing he was on the other side. “What about my client?”

“Fuck your client. Your crooked bosses got him out hours ago.” The detective let the door slam as she left.

Angel was waiting in the lobby area, in an uncharacteristic three-piece suit. Gunn gave him a one-armed hug and then walked out together, briefcases in hand, looking for all the world like a pair of lawyers. (Which, Gunn supposed, they were.)

“Where’s Spike?” Gunn asked as they hustled through the crowded lobby.

Angel faltered a step, but kept going forward. “I thought you’d know.”

“Did you talk to Lindsey?” Gunn asked, and if his question about Spike had tripped Angel up, this one was like a brick to the head. Angel stopped in the middle of the doors leading out of the station, causing a back-up of pedestrian traffic and quite a few angry shouts.

***

Spike fell forward onto close-cropped carpeting. He couldn’t see much of where he was – the protracted struggle as he realized he wasn’t being taken back to the holding cells had resulted in blood and sweat stinging his eyes. He didn’t have a very long list of guesses, though.

A gun barrel pushed into his kidneys, keeping him down on the floor while someone approached with a heavy, measured step.

“Tsk. You’ve gotten him all bruised.”

“Nolex,” Spike snarled, and twisted out from under the gun pressed to his back, renewing his struggles with strength born of panic. No. He wasn’t here again. It wasn’t happening again.

The familiar jolt of an electrical shock had him stiffen, and then fighting to move his muscles at all as he was gathered up and dumped into a chair.

Nolex stood nearby, his hands clasped, smiling. “Forgive the precautions, but after going to so much trouble to get you here, well.” He shrugged.

Spike struggled in vein to move his sluggish arms as they were shackled to the armrests of the chair. “Bastard. When I get free I’m going to take pleasure in ripping you to pieces.”

“Oh, and who will rescue you? The slayer who doesn’t know you’re alive, or the vampire whose heart you broke just yesterday?” Nolex smiled. “Yes, I’ve been keeping close watch on my investment, sweet.” Then, to Spike’s horror, he stepped forward and laid a hand on Spike’s cheek. Spike turned his head and snapped his teeth at the demon, but too sluggishly to catch him.

Nolex stepped back with a sigh. “Terrance, I can’t work with him like this. He’s barely cognizant!”

Terrance tossed off a few ideas about what would have happened if he hadn’t shocked Spike, but Spike wasn’t exactly listening. He leaned against his chains and blinked hard, chasing after consciousness like a memory.

Warm, delicious, soft scent caressed him. He blinked and stared at the tea cup full of blood in front of him. The hunger leapt up his throat like an eager puppy, and that, at least, helped wake him. Spike scowled and pulled back from the proffered cup.

“Oh, come now, I wouldn’t hide it if I was poisoning you.” Nolex waved the servant with the blood away and produced a small glass vial from his pocket with a flourish of his wrist. “Do you know what this is?”

“I’ll hazard a guess it isn’t gin.”

Nolex chuckled and shook the little vial. “No, not gin. Or holy water, if that was your fear. No, this is my lust formula. I use it myself, from time to time. There’s a great rush, being completely controlled by need.” His grayish tongue wriggled out to lick his upper lip.

Spike pulled even farther back into his chair, lip curled in disgust. “I’ll keep my wits, ta.”

“Are you sure?” Nolex rolled the little vial over in his hand, admiring it. “I am going to fuck you violently several times tonight.”

Spike clenched his jaw and glared.

“Oh, darling,” Nolex chuckled again and put his hand on Spike’s shoulder. “I’ll tell you what,” he bent to breathe wetly on Spike’s ear, “I’ll keep it nearby if you change your mind. And I’ll let you take some home with you. Oh, I know Angel will start missing your tight ass eventually and rescue you.” Nolex brushed against Spike’s ear, lowering his voice to conspiratorial tones, “And you might find my little potion handy, then, in fulfilling your duties as his little whore.”

Spike slammed his head into Nolex’s, and had a moment of dizzy triumph as the demon staggered back, a hand over his nose. Nolex’s blood was grayish pink, and he wiped it carefully with a square of silk before casually backhanding Spike.

“Take him to the play room, Terence. You may knock him out if you really must, but see that he is awake when I return.”

Spike strained against his chains, watching the demon walk away.


	17. The Big Damn Hero

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spike is really not having a good time of it. Poor abused thing. Which is to say, there's some graphic physical damage in the chappie.

Angel fell back in his chair, hands up. “I don’t understand why we can’t just attack the bastard and get Spike back.”

Wes spoke calmly and quietly. “We lost eight security personnel the last time we assaulted Nolex’s headquarters and need I remind you that these are still human beings you are risking?”

Angel bit his lip to keep from giving Wes a dirty look and turned to Gunn. “How did Nolex get the cops to just hand him over? Legally?”

“He’s made himself Spike’s legal guardian.”

Angel’s eyebrows rose. “Seriously?”

Gunn shrugged. “It’s not like Spike had any real identification and paperwork to compete with Nolex’s fabrication. He has Spike listed as a mentally disabled cousin, permanently dependent. All the paperwork’s put through. He must have been working on this for months.”

“Great.” Angel scowled and pressed his fist to his forehead. “We’d have to make them believe Spike is _smart_ to discredit that.” Angel looked up to see Gunn and Wes both staring at him. “What?”

Gunn cracked a grin. “Come on, he’s not Einstein, but it shouldn’t be too hard to show he’s not Rain Man, either.”

“Uh… that was kind of a joke.” Angel jumped to his feet. “We have to be able to do something. Wes, can’t you magic him out of there?”

“Wards.”

Angel spread his hands, waiting for Wes to say more. Wes only shrugged.

“Gunn – why can’t we just fake up an identity for Spike like Nolex did?”

“Well, we can try, but the courts tend to believe the first identity they get in these cases. You know, because most people only have one?”

Angel made a frustrated groan and snatched his coat off the back of his chair.

Wes held up a placating hand. “Even if we could snatch Spike from his clutches, we’d have to face kidnapping charges.”

“Come on, Angel, where are you going to go?”

Angel settled his coat over his shoulders. “Somewhere I can hit something.” He stormed out of the office, leaving Wes and Gunn to exchange weary looks.

***

Spike hurt. He lay flat on his stomach, knowing only that he was in pain and wondering if he couldn’t will himself to lose consciousness.

He tried jerking against his bonds, which sent sharp pain shooting through his dislocated hip, but it wasn’t quite enough to put him under. He panted against the smooth, rubbery matt beneath him, which was sticky and wet under his cheek from sweat and blood. (Not tears, he told himself, though his eyes were sticky and sore.)

The door opened and Spike hated the icy stab of fear the sound awoke. Measured footsteps approached his head. “Wakey wakey. Breakfast time!”

Spike’s fear turned into a snarl as he strained his neck to see Terence approach with a sports bottle. “Fuck off,” he said.

Terence sighed dramatically and crouched down to look Spike in the eyes. “You can either suck on my little plastic cock here,” he waggled the sports bottle, “or I’m going to have to inject it into you. So how about you save us both some time and hassle, huh?”

Spike reared back, cords straining in his neck from the angle, and spat in Terence’s face.

Terence wiped the spit off with the back of his hand, stomped a few steps away, turned, and kicked Spike hard in the hip. “Dick!”

Spike’s vision grayed from the pain and he was left panting again, one thought circling his mind: he had to escape. Gritting his teeth, Spike started systematically testing his bonds.

Terrence came and went, muttering about needless bother, setting up an IV stand and jabbing Spike with needles, which Spike could hardly feel over the burning agony in his hips.

Spike did know the moment Nolex came into the room, however. He felt the man’s shadow like a physical weight falling on him. “Sweetheart, are you being bad for the sitter?”

“When I get free I’m going to rip your cock into bite-sized pieces and stuff them down your throat.”

Nolex’s hand rested, firm and possessive, on the small of Spike’s back. “You need to drink your breakfast, precious, or you won’t heal. You’re hardly as much fun to play with like this.” His hand slid down Spike’s ass, fingers dragging like sandpaper over the raw, torn skin. In a mockery of comfort he squeezed and patted the undamaged parts. Then he trailed his fingers up Spike’s back, grabbing a handful of hair and tugging hard as Spike tried to turn his head away. “You just make me hornier when you’re all defiant, kitten. I was going to leave you to heal up while I went to the office, but I suppose I could cancel my early meeting since you’re so attention-starved.”

Spike thrashed his head free, losing some hairs and a bit of consciousness. He blinked away spots and growled, “Why don’t you just get a real doll, you sick fuck?”

Nolex breathed into Spike’s ear. “I’d have to worry about damaging it.”

Nolex chuckled and wandered around Spike, inspecting him. He paused by his left hip and tutted. “That needs to be fixed, doesn’t it?”

Which was all the warning Spike got before his thigh joint was popped back into his hip. Spike screamed.

“There there.” Nolex was stroking Spike’s side and back gently, tickling traces of fingertips that warred with the bone-deep pain. Spike shivered, wanting to shake him off, but he was in a fog of pain for a while, insensible to Nolex having a conversation with Terence, presumably about sex-slave maintenance. Nolex would wander around him, touching every part of him, as though to spread an even layer of disgust over Spike’s skin.

Slowly a healing itch was settling in, no doubt aided by whatever they were pumping into him via IV. Eventually, mercifully, he started to drift off.

He was awakened with the sharp, burning sensation of a finger probing his torn ass. He hissed and jerked at his restraints.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Show me how ready you are.”

Spike thrashed, which hurt, of course, and he tried to calm himself and still. Which wasn’t easy when you knew you were about to be buggered. Again. Forget the real doll, this bloke would soon be getting his jollies with the equivalent of a pack of raw hamburger.

Nolex’s knee slid up Spike’s thigh, his body lowering over him. Holding still felt close enough to acquiescence to make Spike loathe himself, though there was nothing else he could do but wait for the penetration. Nolex set a hand on Spike’s shoulder, leaning with all his weight as he shifted into position. Spike tried to think of something else, anything else, but still he knew exactly where the head of the demon’s dick was long before he felt the broad head touching sore flesh.

The door burst open. “I tried to stop him,” Terence cried.

Nolex’s body jolted as it was struck. Spike tried to see behind himself.

“Get. Off. Him.” Angel growled.

A mixture of relief and humiliation washed through Spike’s veins, making him feel heavy.

Nolex flexed his hips forward. “I’m in the middle of something here. Come back in an hour?”

There was another jolt, the slap of fists on skin. Nolex shifted, knee now digging into Spike’s thigh. “Are you seriously doing this, Angel? Are you going to beat me up and steal your toy back?”

“Spike, are you all right?”

“No, I’m not fucking all right!” Spike turned his face into the mattress and jerked hard on his wrist shackles.

“This is touching, it really is, the love between you two,” Nolex said, crawling off the bed.

“Let him go.”

“Or what?” Spike heard the slippery sound of Nolex putting on his silk robe. “I’m stronger than you. I’m richer than you. Laughable as it sounds, I have the law on my side. What can you possibly do to make me do anything?”

“I’m pretty sure I can think of something.”

“Well, don’t strain yourself. I can think of several things you could offer me that would be worth more than dear little Spike.”

Spike heard the rasp of cloth, Angel putting his hands on his hips. “Like what?”

“Oh, pretty much any other member of your staff. That deliciously hard-edged warlock, perhaps, or that beautiful lawyer. Gunn, wasn’t it?” Nolex smacked his lips.

“I’m not trading people with you, Nolex.” There was a smirk in Angel’s voice.

“No? Then perhaps you can do something for me yourself.” Nolex’s hand landed on Spike’s shoulder again. Spike tried to shake it off.

“You’re not my type,” Angel said.

“Not feeling the martyr today?” Nolex’s fingers crawled up to Spike’s neck and snatched hold when he tried to move away from them. “Fine. I’ll even make you one offer easier than that. The senior partners are very, very interested in tempting you to the dark side, Angel. Do something evil for me, and I’ll think about giving you back your boy.”

“You want to see me be evil? I can be evil.”

Angel’s tone made Spike shiver. He saw his shadow fall over the corner of the mattress and his outstretched arm.

“I was thinking something degrading and damaging. Why not start by showing me just what you want the boy back for?” Nolex let go of Spike’s neck and took a step back. “Give him a good, hard fucking. Go ahead; I don’t mind sharing.”

Spike heard both men breathing. Angel’s breaths were deep and hard. The air was full of the scents of blood and shame. Spike didn't move, didn't breathe. He wasn't sure what he feared more.

Angel's hand rested on his calf. Spike felt disappointed, sad. He bit his lip and told himself it would be far better than getting Nolex again.

And then Angel picked up his hand.

Spike listened to Angel’s retreating footsteps until they faded.

“Hrm, I guess he didn’t really want you back,” Nolex said, petting Spike’s spine. He kissed just below the nape of Spike’s neck. “Now, let’s get back to where we started, hm?”


	18. The Rescue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news for Spike this chapter! Are you shocked?

Angel burst into Wesley’s office with murder in his expression and fists clenched. “How do I kill it?”

Wesley carefully placed a book-mark on the tome he was reading. “I presume you’re referring to Nolex?”

With a sweep of his arms, Angel cleared Wesley’s desk of its contents and planted his fists in front of the former watcher. “How. Do. I. Kill. It?”

Wesley didn’t blink, and spoke in as calm and even a tone as he could muster. “We have no information on slaying a Kalmeth-manoo-oid, as I told you before. You could always try decapitation.”

Angel roared in frustration and punched the wall, leaving a ragged hole in the wood paneling.

Wesley held still. “Throwing a tantrum isn’t going to get Spike back, Angel. Several of those books you tumbled unceremoniously to the floor are irreplaceable.”

Angel grimaced, his rage suddenly cooled with an apologetic look at the pile of paper and leather. He paced, running his hands through his hair. “I’m sorry, Wes. I just… I was right there. Nolex in front of me. Spike in front of me. And I couldn’t do anything to save him.”

“Why not?”

Angel stared at Wes, incredulous that he’d risk his wrath. Wes shrugged slightly to show he hadn’t meant it in an accusatory way. Angel shook his head. “He was eager for me to attack him. I could see it in his eyes, in his hands… you don’t attack someone who looks like that. Believe me.”

Morosely, Angel kicked Wesley’s guest chair back into place and slumped in it. “You were right. I mean, about how well-protected his place is. I could smell magic everywhere, and if the guards hadn’t let me in…” Angel rubbed a hand over his face. “That’s the thing that’s got me the most. They _let_ me in.”

“You have in all probability made the right choice.”

Angel dropped his hand. “Gee, thanks for the glowing affirmation, Wes.”

The tension broke, and with a sigh, Wesley knelt to retrieve his books and papers. “If you want consoling, I suggest you talk to Lorne. I can only tell you what I know.”

“If I just had a sure-fire way to kill the bastard. Then maybe, even with his wards and his guards…”

“You would at least feel you had a plan as you went to your doom.” Wes gently brushed the spine of a leather-bound tome, as though soothing a wounded animal. After setting it carefully on the desk he gave Angel a steady gaze. “You do realize that Spike may have to be sacrificed. As… helpful as he has been,” Wesley’s doubts to that regard were clear in his tone, “he can’t be worth losing you and your destiny.”

Angel just looked back at Wes, wearily, for a while before saying, “I know that.”

Wesley quietly righted his desk and re-arranged his papers while Angel stared blankly ahead.

“They want me dark,” Angel said. “Nolex… that’s his plan. He’s backed me into a corner and offered me one way out, which is to do something…” Angel shook his head. “I hate feeling helpless.”

A tentative knock broke the gloomy silence. Harmony poked her head in. “Bossy?” Seeing Angel she stepped the rest of the way in. “Oh good. I heard the crashing and shouting so I assumed you were here. Uh… you have a visitor.”

“Take a message and send them away, Harmony. I’m not in the mood.”

“Oh, I think you’ll want to see me,” Lindsey stepped in behind Harmony, a big grin on his face.

Wesley jumped to cover the books on his desk.

***

Spike hung from his wrists, chained to a wall in a nicely appointed sitting room. His toes could just touch the floor, which meant he alternated sore calves and sore wrists between struggling to support his weight and giving up. There was an enormous flat-panel television across the room from him in a rosewood cabinet. Spike chuckled a bit because even through the pain, humiliation and degradation, he still was capable of feeling annoyed at not being able to turn it on.

He tried not to breathe because even after the humiliating bath Terence had subjected him to, he still smelled Nolex on his skin. Every intake of breath made him want to gag.

He told himself Angel hadn’t abandoned him; that he just didn’t want to hurt him or some nancy-boy bollocks. He couldn’t quite believe that, though. Angel had probably just not wanted to perform for an audience, or, more likely, lose face by backing down to a rival. Bastard.

Spike had stopped feeling his fingertips, so he grudgingly shifted to put his toes under him and lifted. Icy pain immediately awoke in his hands and wrists and his feet groaned in complaint at the weight, even though the lazy sods had had a good five minute’s rest.

The chain between his ankles chimed as he danced a little on his toe-tips, getting the balance right. He stretched his neck and leaned his head back against the wall and plotted once again how he was going to attack as they took him down. If they went for the feet first, knee to the face. If they went for the wrists first, knee to the groin. If he couldn’t reach because they stepped aside…

Footsteps down the hall stopped his thoughts. Spike hated that he started panting. He bit his lip and strained to see who was coming. If it was that Terence bloke he was going to give him an earful…

It was Nolex, and Terence, and two of the gaurds. Nolex didn’t look happy. He was running a ribbon through his fingers. A silver key dangled from it.

Spike lifted his chin. “Bored already?”

Nolex looked away. Angry. “Let’s get this over with.”

Terence smirked, taking the key. “Don’t fight, princess, you’re being set free.”

Terence still made sure to approach from as far to the side as possible. Spike still fought.

He fought and struggled all the way to the front parlor, and stopped only when he saw Angel standing there with an unreadable expression.

“Angel? Wha…”

Angel’s eyes slid fractionally to his left. Spike’s eyes followed and widened. Lindsey wore the same smart suit he’d worn to see Spike in jail, and the same smug grin.

Lindsey stepped past Angel and held out his hand. “Thank you for your cooperation in this matter, Mr. Nolex. We’ll be leaving with our charge, now.”

“I didn’t hardly get a chance to enjoy him,” Nolex said. “You’ll be hearing from my attorneys.”

“Gosh, I hope so,” Lindsey said. And then his hand was on Spike’s. Spike jerked back, but the lawyer just calmly took his wrist and led him toward Angel.

Spike hardly knew what was happening, and it was all he could do to keep his feet moving and under him. His knees and hips were both loose and unused to supporting his weight. But Angel swooped an arm under his and soon he was being bundled into a limo. His bare skin stuck a bit on the leather seats. Angel gathered him up in a hug and kissed him, wetly, on the temple. “Sorry, baby. Should have thought to bring you something to wear.”

Something brushed his arm. Spike looked up to see Lindsey standing outside the car, proffering his suit-jacket. Angel took it with a huff.

“How’d you get me out?” Spike finally asked.

Lindsey got in to the front seat of the limo and looked back to say, “You’re welcome.”


	19. The Settlement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At last! We learn Lindsey's scheme. Or at least, what was done to get Spike back. (It was all lawyery. That's why I decided to skip ahead and fill it in later. Who wants to read that?)

Spike looked traumatized and vulnerable with Lindsey’s suit jacket clutched tightly around him. Angel wanted to cuddle and comfort him, but every time he touched Spike he was met with cold shivers. “Liam,” he said, voice low and edged with concern, “what is sodding vision-boy doing here?”

Angel sighed heavily. “He’s on a work furlough from hell. He got Nolex to give you up. And yes, I know we can’t trust him. We’ll talk about it when we get to the office.” Angel wriggled his fingers under Spike’s hand, which was clenched to his elbow, and pulled it toward him. Spike’s wrists were bloody and torn. Angel lowered his lips to the damage.

“No!” Spike jerked back quickly.

Angel rolled his eyes. “Come on! I can’t even help clean your wounds?”

“He put something in my blood. Again.” Spike covered his wrist with the opposite hand.

“Oh,” Angel said, though he couldn’t quite dispel the irritation that had jumped up at Spike refusing to let him lick his wounds. And, in fact, he now could not help but notice that Spike hadn’t offered a word of thanks on being rescued.

Angel shifted further away from him and glowered at the back of Lindsey’s head the rest of the way back to the office.

***

Lindsey led the way into Angel’s office as though he had a right to the place, waving pleasantly to Harmony as she stood up behind her desk.

“Let Fred know we’re back and Spike will need an examination,” Angel said to her, and something in his expression made her wilt back down into her seat. He bundled Spike into his office behind a smirking Lindsey. Spike let Angel put his arm around him, as he was trying hard to be as small as possible.

Lindsey stood in front of the windows, hands clasped in front of him, smiling. “Why are you still here?” Angel demanded.

Lindsey shrugged. “I’m sure I’ll get yanked back into that hell dimension the second the senior partners think I’m not useful enough out here. And much as I love gloating about saving your ass, that means we don’t have a lot of time to go over the particulars. Spike?” Lindsey turned pointedly more away from Angel than necessary.

“Got nothing to say to you,” Spike said.

“Yeah, I bet. But since I doubt Angel is going to bother telling you, you should know I’ve rigged a custody dispute. You’re Angel’s official dependent.”

Angel tightened his grip on Spike’s shoulders. “I think I can take it from here.”

Lindsey tilted his head back. “Be sure and tell him the part about the slaves.”

Spike tried to turn out of Angel’s hold, causing Angel to grab on tighter, which led almost to a struggle, right in front of Lindsey, so Angel let Spike go, and to some audiences it might have looked like a shove, but it certainly wasn’t Angel’s fault Spike had to get away from him so badly that he fell. He grabbed Lindsey by the front of his shirt. “Get. Out.”

Lindsey tore away from his grip, hair falling in his face. “Can I have my jacket back?”

“Out!”

“What part with the slaves?” Spike asked, supporting his weight on the arm of the sofa.

“Hey look.” Lindsey glanced down at himself, arms out at his sides. “Still here. Guess I’m being useful.”

Angel clenched his fists and took a menacing step toward the lawyer.

“What are you going to do, big guy? Rip my heart out of my chest? That’s my morning cup of coffee these days.” Lindsey turned to Spike. “You’re a ward of the company as well. It’s a protective status usually used for our demon employees to keep their extra-dimensional slaves legal in LA. Congratulations. If you had agreed to my first offer, none of this would have had to happen.”

To Lindsey’s delight, it was Angel Spike turned on. “You sold me to Wolfram and Hart?”

“No! Spike… you should have taken the employment offer.”

Lindsey backed toward the door. “And now I think I’ll leave the lovely couple alone. See you both in Hell.” He waved.

Spike charged toward Angel, only to lose his footing on his own and collapse, cursing. Angel could smell fresh blood from his many injuries. “Spike, stop it. Just… here, let me help you.”

Spike swung and hit Angel as he tried to take his elbow. Angel grabbed his wrists and hauled him to his feet. “Stop that. You’re hurt.”

Spike was shaking. “You sold me out. You bastard. You couldn’t have just done what Nolex wanted, could you? No. That would hurt your enormous bloody ego!”

Angel waited for his weak struggle to subside. Spike ended up leaning against him. “There. Easy. You know I couldn’t have done that to you. C’mon, Spike.” He slipped his arm around Spike and helped him up. “Let’s get you cleaned up and fed. Everything else can wait. Damn Lindsey and his… damn him.”

Spike let Angel support him to the elevator, even leaning his head on Angel’s shoulder, which was nice enough to make Angel’s stomach tighten with hope that the conflict was finally over. Then Spike said, wearily, “Didn’t want to be beholden to the evil corporation, Angel. You know that. Why’d you do this to me?”

“I didn’t do anything to you, Spike,” Angel grumbled, shifting Spike’s weight to his shoulder so he could press the elevator button. “It’s all just paperwork, anyway. A legal lie. It means nothing.”

Spike’s chest jerked in a small, silent laugh. “Senior partners wouldn’t have given a work-release from hell for nothing.”

“They want you here.” Angel picked Spike up as the elevator doors opened on his apartment.

“Damn it, I’m not a bint!”

“Shush,” Angel said. “Just be grateful what the bad guys want helped us for a change.” He set Spike down in the bathtub. “Give me that suit coat.”

Spike shifted his hips carefully. Through tight lips he asked, “Gonna burn it?”

One corner of Angel’s mouth lifted. “Maybe,” he said.

“Berk,” Spike said, but he surrendered the coat.

Angel balled it up and tossed it with great glee down the incinerator chute.

Spike was sitting up, trying to figure out the shower and getting blood all over the fixtures when Angel got back to him.

Angel took off his own shirt and reached in, sealing the tub and turning on the lower taps. “Relax. Let me clean you up.”

Spike gave him a slow, slit-eye look, but didn’t fight as Angel eased him back against his arm and started to draw a wash cloth over the more intact parts of his skin.

“Notice you’re not too broken up to have me at your mercy,” Spike said.

Angel rinsed the rag under the tap. “You’re not at my mercy. I’ll show you all the documents Lindsey drew up. We really do owe him for it. The little shit. He found loop-holes within loop-holes. And Gunn shadowed his every step. You have nothing to worry about. Only…”

Spike’s eyes had fallen shut. He opened them, frowning. “Only _what_?”

Angel looked away, rinsing the rag out again. “You might not want to go out, I mean, too much, without me. The way this whole thing is set up, I could be charged with neglect and lose custody.”

Spike’s quirked brow and frown conveyed very clearly the sentiment “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“It’ll all work out. You’ll see. Trust me.”

Angel kept up his ministrations. Spike only interrupted to call him “pouf” and complain about not needing any help, though he could hardly stand by the time the bath was over. Angel gave him two mugs of blood and tucked him into his own bed, where he fell very quickly asleep. Angel curled up behind him and squeezed him close, just to feel the solidity of him. This was how it should be.

As Angel drifted off, he nuzzled Spike’s neck, licking at a small wound there absent-mindedly.


	20. The Heat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More darkening Angel! Oh look! Lust drug at work! Yay!
> 
> Also lawyers growling at each other like alley cats. :)

Spike awoke from a dream where he was being enthusiastically used as a chew toy by a giant version of the dog that his next-door neighbors had kept when he was a boy. It was an odd awakening, though, because he was still being licked and nibbled, and still hearing frustrated little growls and whines.

Angel was covered in clammy sweat and humping Spike’s leg frantically. Spike tried to push him off, but Angel clung to him with desperate strength. Spike groaned. “You drank my blood, didn’t you?”

The sweat-damp head pressed to his chest nodded.

“You got the lust drug for real this time.”

“I know,” Angel whined. “Fuck!”

Spike considered his options, such as they were. He was exhausted, beaten, weakened, and caged in strong, sweating, trembling arms.

He had to fight Angel a bit to get his hand between them, but soon he had hold of Angel’s hard cock and started jacking it. Angel bucked like a fish on the line, and it was all Spike could do just to hold on. Pain laced up his arm bones, just another note of exhaustion. But at least it seemed to do the trick for Angel and he was soon shooting all over Spike’s wrist, shaking like a house about to collapse.

There was, perhaps, a moment of peace. Spike started trying to extract his hand from between Angel’s pressing body and his own. Then Angel started humping again. He looked up at Spike with wild eyes.

“Fuck, Peaches. You have got to be kidding.”

“I’m so, so sorry. I… n-need… need…”

“You’re an idiot. A fucking moron.”

“I know. Sorry. I… Spike?” Angel’s hands clamped on his upper arms, and he rose up a little, chest glistening, looking at Spike with inarticulate pleading.

“You’re not asking me to let you fuck me. Again.”

“I’m so…”

“Don’t fucking say you’re sorry.” Spike tried to wriggle up out of his grasp, toward the headboard.

Angel pressed his lips to Spike’s ear. “Can’t… can’t help.”

“No! Angel! Go wank!”

Angel was fully vamped out, his chin bloody as he bit his lower lip. Angel’s body dipped and swayed as he started rubbing off against the bed, between Spike’s legs. “Can’t… can’t fight it for long. I… gah!”

Spike only had just enough time to try to smear some of Angel’s come on him before Angel rushed into him, hard and unyielding as stone. Spike’s head crashed into the headboard and all the air was squeezed from his lungs. It felt rather a lot like having a church collapse onto you, Spike thought, and blacked out.

***

Gunn had actually been in a good mood that morning. He’d gotten a pretty tricky case closed on a technicality and another client had relented to plea-bargaining, leaving him with a moment to breathe before the next debacle. And the Wolfram and Hart cafeteria actually made a pretty killer frappachino.

Not that he was the sort of man to drink frappachino.

But as he manfully hummed Gilbert and Sullivan around a straw full of icy coffee goodness, he ran into Lindsey McDonald.

They had a moment of startled recognition. Gunn pointed with his frappachino. “Aren’t you supposed to be in hell?”

“A hell, actually. You’d be surprised how many there are.”

“Whatever, man. You came, you did your dirty deed, now you should be gone.” Gunn noticed a drip of whipped cream escaping the top of his cup and had to set down his briefcase to wipe at it with a napkin. “Or at the least you should be out of my way.”

“Gee, wish I could help, really. I’ll jump right on that fire to keep your breakfast running smoothly.” Lindsey added a sunny smile and rapid blinking to just hammer home the sarcasm.

“Jerk.”

“Scab.”

Three people got up from their table as Gunn set his drink and his briefcase on it. He stepped right up to Lindsey. “I deserve this job. I have the skills.”

“Which is why you couldn’t figure out that the special status invoice would work for Spike.”

“Maybe I did figure it out, but didn’t want to turn a friend into property.”

Lindsey shook his head. “Spike’s not your friend. Any more than he is mine. And even if he was, you’d have done it. You just didn’t think of it.”

Gunn raised a fist. Lindsey smirked. It might have come to blows at that moment, except that Harmony bustled up between them, looking straight at Gunn. “Hey, have you seen Angel?”

Gunn’s shoulders dropped. “I’m just trying to drink my coffee, here.”

“Well, he wasn’t in his office when I brought his blood in, and he didn’t answer his phone. I even tried his cell.”

“Try security,” Lindsey said.

Harmony seemed to notice him for the first time. “Woah. Like, do you work here, now?”

“Technically…” Lindsey shrugged.

Gunn snatched up his briefcase. “Yes, Harmony, I’d love to come with you to security. Think I’ll talk to them about loiterers in the building.”

“If I was loitering, I’d pick a better place than this,” Lindsey said, but Gunn ignored him, hurrying Harmony out of the cafeteria.

“Ow! Not so fast… hey, is that a frappachino?”

Gunn held his coffee out of Harmony’s reach. “You only drink blood.”

“That’s a myth!” Harmony tried several times to snag the sugary beverage, but somehow Gunn managed to make it all the way to the security office still in possession of his morning treat.

“No,” the security officer on duty said, “Mr. Angel hasn’t left the building. His keycard hasn’t been accessed all day. I’d say he’s still in his suite.”

Gunn turned to Harmony with a shrug and a slurp of his drink. He frowned when he saw Lindsey was waiting in the hallway, craning to see into the office.

Harmony shook her head. “It isn’t like Bossy to be this late to work. Can you check the cameras in his apartment?”

“Sure.” The security guard flipped some switches and the monitor in front of him displayed a high-angle view of a spotless apartment. “Not in his sitting area. Not in the kitchenette. Not in the… oh. WOAH.”

The guard had switched back to the kitchenette pretty quickly, but not quickly enough for Gunn’s sanity. He blinked, wishing he could banish the after-image of two squirming bodies from his retinas.

“Oh. My. God.” Harmony reached past the security guard and before Gunn could stop her, had turned the display back to the bedroom. “Unbelievable. You know, I saw him first!”

Gunn stumbled out of the office, rubbing his eyes, to come face to face with a smirking Lindsey.

“Guess the vampires are having a warm reunion.” Lindsey winked. “A warm, wet, grinding…” He laughed as Gunn blanched.

“I’ve wasted enough time this morning,” Gunn said, gesturing as though he could push the whole business behind him.

Lindsey trailed him down the hall. “Don’t be so surprised. Vampires are born sluts, you know. Well, okay, not _born_. When I was paying Spike’s rent, you know…”

Gunn gave up on the pretense of calm and bolted down the stairs.

Lindsey rocked back on his heels and shook his head. “Look at me. Still, apparently, useful.”

***

Spike didn’t know how long he’d lasted, how many times flailing in and out of consciousness, fighting, not fighting, resting, resisting. But he was folded practically in half, he remembered that, his face smashed into his own forearm and his body awake with pain, limbs shaking with fatigue. So he snarled and bit into his own flesh, devouring and swallowing the tepid, sluggish blood as fast as he could. He hadn’t known if it would work, but he was desperate to the edge of madness.

It did work. It didn’t make the pain less, but he didn’t much care. He found new strength, twisting around in the cage of friction-warmed limbs and rutting against Angel, who growled in feral delight and crashed against him like ocean waves.


	21. The Second Morning After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot keeps being pushed back in favor of more time spent exploring the affects of lust drugs. :)

Angel woke first, slightly nauseous and feeling like his head was stuffed with cotton. Then he noticed two things – first, that he was very, very muscle sore, and that the angle of light put the time at early evening. He thought this was very observant of himself, if not helpful. Then he tried to sit up, and the bedspread actually stuck to him. The pillow made a sound like Velcro giving way as his head lifted from it. Then he got a good look at the bed, his body, and Spike. The bed looked like an abattoir had fallen on it and Spike was mauled. His hip joint looked particularly not the right shape, and skin was smeared with so much blood it was hard to see what was wounded and what wasn’t. Then again, Angel didn’t look much better. He gingerly touched a knee glistening with friction-burns under the dried-jam of blood. The air was sick with the scent of old, spilled vampire blood – the vampire equivalent of smelling food gone off.

Angel got up, carefully. His legs wobbled a bit when he got his weight on them.

“Memo to me: avoid lust potions,” he said, and toddled his way into the bathroom. The feel of hot water was heaven and he scrubbed until, at least in the shower, all he could smell was soap. The headache eased a bit, too, though the memories came back and that made him miss the hangover.

He called Harmony and found out he’d missed two full days. She had clean sheets and hot blood waiting, and asked if the medical team should come up.

Angel felt a hot, heavy rush of guilt. “No, uh… I’ll take care of it. Thanks.”

Spike, thankfully, stayed unconscious through the re-setting of his dislocated hip and shoulder. Angel got light-headed, grunting and shoving, hands slipping all over as sweat mixed with dried blood and other fluids. When the hip joint – far harder than the shoulder – finally popped into place with a dull thud, Angel fell over Spike in relief, panting. Then Spike stirred under him. One arm twitched, his head turned, and he let out a soft mewl. Angel struggled to get up off of him, muttering apologies. But Spike’s eyes weren’t open, and he didn’t say anything, just moaned, deep in his throat, and twitched.

Angel checked that there were no other dislocations or breaks hurting him, and then he realized that the moaning and twitching were not from pain. Spike’s hips were rocking, slowly, but steadily. His lips opened and closed, soft, pleading whimpers joining the groans.

Angel rested his head briefly against the wall and considered that there was, in fact, such a thing as completely fucked out, and he was it.

Spike kept twitching. His eyelashes were fluttering now.

“Fuck. Okay, Spike… easy, baby, easy. Let’s just… get you cleaned up, and then I’ll take care of you. Shhh….”

Angel lifted Spike off the bed. He was terribly light, though the blankets and sheets posed a problem, adhering everywhere. He battled them with one foot, hopping and nearly toppling over, but he managed to get Spike into the bathroom, sans bedding, at last.

Spike’s eyes opened as Angel rinsed him off with the shower. He blinked and tilted his head back, mouth open, and said, “Fuuuuuck.”

“Sh. It’s okay, baby, just… here. Soap.” He handed Spike the soap and used the shower nozzle to chase the bloodiest water down the drain before plugging it and starting the tub filling.

Angel hurried back into the badroom to strip the disgusting, matted sheets from the bed. He only thought a moment about putting them in the laundry before catching a whiff of them and shoving them down the incinerator chute.

The mattress pad was soaked too, and some of the mattress under it. He tossed the pad after the sheets and squirted some rug cleaner on the bed. He then went back into the bathroom and stopped in the door, his breath caught in this throat.

Through the steam and the over-full bathtub, he saw Spike stretched out, the tip of his cock poking out of the water with regular little splashes as he fucked his fist. The water was clear but tinged pink, as were Spike’s lips and cheeks.

Angel marveled a moment, mesmerized by the steady motion, the sound of soft panting and the gently lapping waves against the sides of the tub.

And then those waves got turbulent, faster, and water started spilling over the side onto the parquet floor.

Angel quickly shut off the taps and then grabbed Spike’s hand, stopping him. He arched up, mouth open, gasping.

Angel gasped, himself, at the sight, and the feel of Spike’s cock twitching in his grasp. “Easy, Spike. Not yet, baby, you’re going to hurt yourself. Come on, let’s get you clean first.”

Spike let out a long, low whine, and Angel had to hold him still until the water went cold around them. Angel noticed he was shaking a little, too. One mug of blood wasn’t quite doing it, and Spike was clearly so weak he could barely move, much less get off.

Angel told himself it was for Spike’s benefit when he tied him tightly to the bed. Just to keep him from hurting himself further. Angel was careful and thorough with the ropes, making sure he didn’t have leeway to move in any direction, lest he writhe himself into another dislocation. He used strips of clean linen to bind Spike’s wounds and cover the skin under each rope, too, to prevent sores.

Then he fed him two liters of blood through a sports bottle.

Then he was quite exhausted himself, and his bed was full of spread-eagled horny vampire. Spike hadn’t stopped the tiny, tight humping motions which was all the bindings allowed. He hadn’t really stopped since he’d woken up. But at least now he wasn’t thrashing and couldn’t hurt himself.

Angel supposed it would be cruel to leave the poor boy without any relief. And Angel was pretty… affected, himself. He let a hand fall over his groin, just lightly brushing the hardness pressing into his slacks, teasing himself. Spike was straining against his bonds, head up, watching him with mouth agape.

“Want something, baby?”

Spike nodded, groaned, nodded hard and fast like he wanted to shake his head off.

“I don’t know if I should give it to you, though. You’re not yourself, and it might be wrong.” Angel bit his lip as Spike’s incoherent pleas became urgent. He walked up the side of the bed, letting his hand ghost over Spike’s leg, up to the inner thigh, fingertips just floating out of reach over his angrily swollen cock. Angel thought he could feel heat coming off of it. “Baby, I want to help you, but how can I when you can’t even ask for it?”

“P-please,” Spike managed. His teeth were gritted, and his whole body thrummed like taut string. “Please. Want. Want. Please.”

Angel dragged his fingertips through the sparse curls at the base of Spike’s cock. “I don’t know, baby. That’s not quite enough. Do you want me to fuck you?”

“Yes. YES.” The ropes groaned as Spike jerked up, trying to chase Angel’s fingertips.

Angel groaned. He closed his eyes and counted backward from one hundred as Spike chanted, “Yes yes fuck yes.”

“I want to know you mean that, Spike. I want to know you mean me, and only me.” Angel let his hand slip between Spike’s legs, caressing the delicate, smooth skin of his upper thighs and then teasing behind his sack.

Spike’s jaw worked soundlessly a bit. His eyes scrunched shut with concentration. “A-Angel. Please. Fuck me.”

Angel crawled onto the bed, over Spike, so that he could feel his panting breaths on his face. He licked his lips. “Just remember you asked, when you finally recover from this.”

And then they were kissing, their bodies pressed together, and Angel felt Spike’s passion, in his body, and his love, he was sure, and the burning need for friction.

Angel grimaced, not too many seconds later, when he realized he had cum on and inside his trousers. “Let’s try that again, without clothes,” Angel said. Spike seemed in complete agreement.

***

Lindsey hadn’t been given an office, but he wasn’t about to go bitching about that. He found a comfortable, well-lit corner of the lobby and settled down to check his email. How very banal that all seemed, but he knew the emails he received weren’t coming from human beings, and probably weren’t even typed so much as transmitted magically directly into the mail server. Or something.

It was best not to think about it.

A shadow fell over his lap. He glanced up to see Wesley, standing a bit too close for comfort. Lindsey carefully shut down his laptop and smiled his sunniest insincere smile. “Problem?”

“Yes. We need to talk.”

Wesley then turned on his heel and walked off, no doubt expecting Lindsey just to follow him. “Dick,” Lindsey muttered, stuffing his laptop back in its bag.


	22. The Blame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Darkening Angel! With the dickiest Angel yet! I think, perhaps, the darkening is finally taking...

They had sex. Slow and thorough fucking, gentle as routine. Spike had recovered from the lust drug, and so had Angel, but it seemed natural to fall into it when they woke up together in bed.

Spike drifted back to sleep before they were done. When he awoke again, Angel was fully dressed and leaning over him. Angel set one knee on the side of the bed, dimpling it with his weight. He set his large palm on Spike’s forehead, gently brushing the hair back before he leaned in to plant a kiss. “Good morning, baby, how are you feeling?”

Spike blinked away his dream, lost in a momentary confusion. Angel stroked his cheek, leaning close to kiss him again as his fingers drew down the side of Spike’s neck.

Then Spike woke up all the way, and groaned. “Get off.”

Angel chuckled and kissed Spike’s jaw line. “Good, you are feeling better.”

Spike tried to struggle out of Angel’s embrace, but much to his own annoyance, he was still weak from healing and Angel either didn’t notice or didn’t care. He helped Spike up and settled him back against a mound of silky, poufy pillows. Angel smirked at his scowl. “I have to go meet with Wes. We… it’s been a couple days, so I can’t really say no. Will you be okay until I get back?”

“Not an invalid.” Spike couldn’t quite meet Angel’s adoring gaze.

“I know, baby. But I hate leaving you all alone.” Angel leaned in and kissed his forehead one more time. “There’s blood waiting for you in the kitchen. If you don’t feel up to getting it, don’t worry, I’ll be back before lunch.”

And then Angel was gone, and Spike was alone in his bed, in his room, surrounded by his scent and the scents of soap, lube, and sex. He felt hung-over and exhausted, his body itching with healing and crawling with memories. He remembered writhing, begging, pleading with Angel to fuck him.

He covered his eyes with his forearm and considered the distance to the liquor cabinet and the general lassitude of his body. At first, lassitude won, and he drifted back to sleep, but the second time he awoke it was with a powerful desire to get out of there, no matter what.

He stumbled and fell, of course, dragging a small avalanche of pillows after him, but eventually he made it to the living room, wrapped in the least bulky of Angel’s comforters, and sank gratefully to the floor at the base of the liquor cabinet. This was far enough for now, he decided, giving in to the complaints of his ravaged body. He could reach the bottles, and the television remote.

He turned the TV on and started flipping through channels. Morning news shows and other boring crap. But then he noticed Angel had a DVD player. “Well, let’s just see what the pouf watches for fun,” he said, switching the remote to DVD and hoping Angel had left a disk in.

***

Angel caught hell from Wes. Apparently, some people didn’t think getting infected with a lust drug was a good excuse for missing half a week of work. “Appalling lack of self control” this and “moral lassitude” that. Like Wesley Wyndham-Pryce ever had to face a lust potion, or knew what it was like to have a demon’s appetites. And how was it that Wesley was automatically in charge when he was gone? Angel decided that as soon as he’d made certain Spike had eaten, he’d be taking a look at the organizational chart.

He loosened the top button on his shirt and stepped into his apartment, eager for some quiet time alone with the one person in the building not angry with him. (And if that alone time was anything like the sweet, guiltless fuck they’d had that morning, so much the better!)

Angel had only just started to register that something was amiss when a whiskey decanter sailed toward his head. He ducked just in time and it smashed against the wall behind him.

Spike was leaning against the armchair, draped in Angel’s burgundy bedspread (which was a fetching color on him, but this wasn’t the time to notice.) He swayed a little, drunkenly, and threw something else at Angel. It hit him in the chest. It was the television remote.

Angel took in the shaking anger, the discarded bottles and glasses, pools of god-knew-what soaking into the pale carpet. He took a step forward and said, very calmly, “You’ve made a mess.”

“How bloody long?”

Angel stepped over a spilled bottle. Spike threw another at him. “How long?” he repeated.

“What? Spike, I told you, we were out of it for a few days. It’s not my…”

“No! Bastard! The…” Spike gestured in inchoate rage toward the television.

That was when Angel noticed what was playing. It was about halfway through the recording. Nolex was standing in front of Spike, slapping his face with his enormous cock, clawed hands tugging his hair so his neck was bent painfully back.

Angel gaped. “Why are you watching that?”

“How long have you had this?”

Angel reached for Spike, who tried, drunkenly, to strike him, but he caught his wrist and turned him around, so he was pressed to his chest. Angel held him until he stopped struggling. “Ssh, baby.”

“H-how could you? How many times did you watch it, Angel?”

“I didn’t, Spike. Calm down. Nolex sent that to me as a taunt, okay? I only watched enough to see what it was.” Angel looked over Spike’s head at the TV. This was, actually, his favorite part.

“Liar. It was twelve sodding minutes in.” Spike twisted a little, his fist hitting without power against Angel’s shoulder.

Angel was more than a little irate. He’d had to put up with Wesley lecturing him like a truant schoolboy, and now his apartment was a wreck, a twenty year old bottle of single malt was staining the rug, and Spike was struggling and generally being a brat.

And the video was really, really turning him on. This was the part where Spike breaks down and cries for the first time. He could see the shoulders shuddering, and the delicious curve of his back as he tried to turn away against the bonds. With Spike’s very real, lithe form in his arms, he couldn’t help but groan and press his filling cock against the hard body in his arms. The anger and jealousy added just an extra violent edge to the lust, a perfect spice. He wanted to throw Spike down and fuck him hard while watching Nolex do the same, feel the re-possession of his property, the anger, let his mind fill with bloody revenge…

Spike snarled like a wet cat, twisting and pushing to get out of Angel’s hold. “You’re getting off on this!”

“So what if I am, Spike?” Angel pushed him away and he tumbled to the floor in a tangled mess of blanket and liquor bottles. “You know who and what I am. Am I supposed to hide that? Lie to you?”

Angel stomped over to the television and turned it off. When he turned back to face Spike, he was just sitting there, staring at him in disbelief. Angel sighed. “You managed to make it to the liquor cabinet. Did you even try to get to the kitchen?”

Spike’s mouth opened and closed a few times before he pulled himself to his feet. “Don’t make this about me.”

“It is about you, Spike. I feed you, I keep you safe, I take you in. I work hard, trying to save the world one miserable, tough decision at a time, and yes, I got distracted. By you. So I take time out of my life – out of my mission, and what thanks do I get?”

Spike pulled the blanket closed in front of his throat. “I didn’t bring this on myself.”

“Of course you didn’t,” Angel said, and though he lowered his voice a bit, it wasn’t a convincing tone. “But if you weren’t here, if you didn’t parade around dressed like you do, Nolex wouldn’t have noticed you, would he? And none of this would have happened.”

“I…” Spike frowned, deeply. Damn himself for getting drunk, he knew he wasn’t in the wrong here, but he couldn’t make the argument.

“You dress like a slut. You flirt with everything that moves. Hell, you were giving the potted plants the eye. Do you really think none of this is your fault?” Angel advanced on Spike as he spoke, voice rising again.

Spike was starting to shrink on himself, to give way, but he lifted his chin with one last defiance, “Didn’t hear you complaining when you were balls-deep in my arse.”

Angel was close enough now to grab Spike by the back of the neck. Spike struggled, of course, but weakly. Between the blood loss and the alcohol, he ended up more leaning against Angel for support than fighting him off. Angel brushed his cheek against Spike’s. “You loved it.”

Spike shuddered. “I didn’t love being raped.”

“I’m not so sure, Spike.” Angel pushed Spike against the wall as he tried to escape. He pressed very close. “Looked to me like you didn’t fight it all that hard.”

Spike shook his head. “No. Liam…”

Angel really was turned on. That Spike was shaking in his arms wasn’t helping. He nipped at the soft skin just under Spike’s jaw. “Easy, baby. I’m not that mad, and I know a great way for you to make it up to me.” Angel ground his cock against Spike.

“I don’t want to…”

“Shh. Of course you do, baby. You don’t want me mad at you, and I don’t want to be mad, so let’s make up, and then we’re gonna get you fed so you can clean up this mess.”

“No, I mean I don’t want to…”

Angel didn’t listen to Spike, he was already past patient, but he felt good that he was being forgiving, even though a big part of him wanted to just beat the snot out of Spike. He pushed him gently over the arm of the sofa and shifted the twisted, wadded blanket out of the way. (That was annoying). Soon enough, though, he had his cock free and back where it belonged, sliding in easily as Spike was still lubed up from the morning. Lubed up but tightened into an almost excruciatingly delicious fit. “There you are, baby, just how you like it.” Angel sank all the way in and pressed his hips firmly, enjoying the moment. Spike wasn’t fighting anymore, which was good. Who knew why he kept pretending he didn’t love giving it up?

Angel glanced across the room at the blank television and briefly wished he could turn the video back on. But no, he was going to have to think about what Spike needed first.

For a while.


	23. The Cowboy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit of a flash-back, we're going back to where we last left Lindsey and Wesley, what they were doing while Spike and Angel were having fun. ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lindsey just HAD to have a chapter of his own. Attention slut. :P

Wesley stood behind his desk, arms crossed, unmoving as Lindsey dropped into the guest-chair and shrugged. “So what’s this about? Going to tell me I’m a bad, bad boy?”

“Close the door,” Wes said.

“Oo, I’m in trouble now,” Lindsey muttered, but he did as asked. As the door latched, he said, “Look, I’m on work-release from Hell, so consider that before you make any threats. That’d be a waste of your time and mine.”

Wesley pursed his lips. “Yes, about that. The senior partners aren’t keeping you out of the fire just so you can spread rumors about sleeping with Spike.”

Lindsey smirked. “Boy’s a slut. That’s not my fault.”

Wes set his hands on the desk. “You will tell me your orders. Now. And we’ll take the threats as a given.”

“Seriously? I’d love to. Are you forgetting I’m only working for these guys because they caught me trying to take them down?”

“Trying to take Angel down, you mean. For vengeance. And let’s not forget you started out working for them, Lindsey.”

“What the hell do you want me to say? You’re one guy. They’re demon-gods. My only hope here is to delay an eternity of punishment.”

“Right,” said Wesley. He unfolded his arms, reached down and flipped open a file folder. “You are reporting directly to Gunn from now on.”

“Oh come on!”

Wesley arched an eyebrow. “Angel is the CEO of this branch. While he is… indisposed… I am in charge. Regardless of who or what assigned you here, you are now my employee. Is that understood, Mr. McDonald?”

“Gunn fucking hates me.”

“How tragic. It must compare greatly to the horrors of hell.”

Lindsey scowled. “Fuck off. You’re going to, what, put me to work doing the same evil shit I did before I escaped this outfit the first time?”

“You might as well be useful while you are advancing your secret, nefarious plot.”

Lindsey looked to the side, considering, and the mask of indifference faded. He folded his arms across his chest and it snapped back into place. “I want an office.”

“You’ll get every consideration and benefit our employees expect. After you report to Lorne for a reading.”

“Lorne’s already heard me sing. Lots.”

“Humor me.” Wes flicked another page over, nodded, and stepped around the desk. “One more thing.” He smacked Lindsey across the mouth with his open palm, hard enough to spin his head and leave the lawyer gaping in shock. “That’s for trying to kill us all. Give me the slightest reason and I’ll make hell seem like a pleasant holiday.”

Lindsey jumped to his feet, chest bumping against Wesley’s as he tried to look intimidating for all that he had to look up at the taller man. “I may be the senior partner’s whipping boy, that doesn’t mean I’m yours.”

Wesley’s mouth quirked up, just a little, and the calm of that expression made Lindsey’s gut turn to ice, but he didn’t back down. His daddy hadn’t raised a coward.

After a long moment, Wes simply turned back to his desk and closed the folder. Lindsey wondered what was written on that paper, “1. Assign McDonald to Gunn’s group. 2. Slap him.?”

“Rest assured,” Wesley said, “I am watching you. Whatever your plans, I will not allow them to come to fruition.”

Lindsey rubbed his still-sore chin. “Did it ever occur to you my job might be just to distract you?”

Wesley shrugged. He had moved the folder aside and opened another. “You may go,” he said.

“I’m not your enemy.”

“Yes, I plan to make certain of that.” Wesley sat down, not looking up from his papers.

“You’re a dick.”

“I’m told we have a complaints department. Let me know how it goes.”

Lindsey stood a bit, flexing his fist, weighing his options, but in the end it was just Wesley’s absolute non-concern that made him storm out without hitting back.

Facing Gunn so soon after their latest stare-down wasn’t high on his list, so Lindsey found Lorne. The green demon was on the phone, talking animatedly to someone he called “sugar”, “precious” and “honey”, so it was probably business. Lindsey leaned against the doorjamb, waiting.

When Lorne finally hung up, Lindsey straightened and asked, “Any requests?”

Lorne blinked. “How about a rousing round of ‘don’t stab us in the back’?”

“You too, Lorne?”

“You got out. You did the right thing. I was so proud. And then you came back.”

Lindsey felt a pang at Lorne’s disappointment, such as he hadn’t expected to feel anymore. He looked down. “Do you want to do this or not?”

“Catch me at the end of the day, cowboy. I don’t want distractions.” And Lorne smiled sadly, which made Lindsey think about their past, more friendly relationship.

Lindsey nodded. “Sure. Thanks.”

Lorne met him in the lobby with a guitar case in hand. They went across the street to a small park, one of those urban green spaces with a name known only to those who bother to read a small plaque. It was late afternoon and the shadows of the buildings made the area cool. Lindsey played one of his old favorites and holding a guitar again felt like returning home. He forgot he had an audience until he looked up to see red eyes glimmering in the sunset.

Lorne got up and left without a word.

That didn’t make Lindsey feel too good.

He went back to his old apartment for the night. The sigils on the walls made him embarrassed – blatant evidence of bad plans and big mistakes.

He sat down on the sofa with a sigh and opened his laptop. After singing for Lorne, he wanted to take some time off, reflect, maybe just get falling-down drunk, but he had work to do.

Two clicks of an icon on his desktop opened the security feed to Angel’s apartment. It only took a flick of the mouse to select the right camera. They were predictable, these vampires. Angel’s ass was flexing eagerly, tanned and well-lit… and just how did Angel manage not to have tan lines on his ass? Was it a pre-death nudity thing? Lindsey thought briefly about 18th century Ireland and shook his head. Probably self-tanning lotion, the vain dork.

All he could see of Spike was the nape of his neck, his straining shoulders and one arm braced against the headboard like a steel cable.

He just watched for a while, marveling at the steady play of light on muscle, then he did get up and get a drink.

They’d flipped over by the time he sat down again, so he moved the camera feed to one side of his desktop and opened up his report to take the evening’s notes. Spike’s face was scrunched up in pain or ecstasy or both, his fingers pale and long against the broad planes of Angel’s back.

Lindsey took a sip of whiskey. The daily vampire porn viewings were starting to get to him. But that might have been the point.


	24. The Situation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter! Nothing too traumatic in this one. Spike gets to talk to Fred!

Spike stood a long time at the dresser, staring into top drawer.

“I had them bring over your stuff,” Angel said, although that much was patently obvious.

“Ta,” Spike said, and picked up a shirt. He dressed unhurriedly, but silently.

Angel, who had already dressed, sat on the bed. “Are you mad at me?”

“No.” Spike’s eyes were on his shirt-cuffs, which he was buttoning. Angel knew that was somewhat unusual for him.

“Then why are you giving me the silent treatment?”

“I’m not…” Spike sighed and at last turned to face Angel. “I’m mad at myself.”

Angel quickly reached for Spike to comfort him. Spike almost stepped back, so Angel just put his hand on Spike’s bicep instead of hugging him. “Spike, you haven’t done anything wrong.”

Spike’s expression was tired, his eyes unfocused. “You make it too easy to give in.”

Angel kissed his cheek. “Baby, I’m sorry if I’ve been hard on you. But there’s nothing wrong with what we’re doing. You have to realize that on some level.”

“Don’t call me ‘baby’,” Spike said, and turned out of Angel’s hold. “Christ, I feel like I haven’t been out of this flat in months.”

Angel followed him into the living room, where Spike was putting on his boots. Angel cleared his throat. “So, uh, I don’t need to know every little thing you do and all, but, uh…”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Confined to the building. Won’t be the first time.”

“I’ve never…” Spike stopped him with a look. Angel touched the back of his head, checking his hair, and generally fidgeted. “So, I’ll be in my office most of the day. If you, you know, need me.”

Spike stood. “Could you try not looking like I’m taking your puppy away, you great big poof?”

“You just look so eager to leave me.”

“I’m not leaving. You know that.” Spike walked up to him, raised his arm like he was going to touch him, but then dropped it. “I’m just going to see Fred, maybe see what Charlie is up to, you know, bother the staff.” He smiled. “Had plenty of opportunities to learn how to entertain myself in this place when I was a sodding ghost.”

“I’m not pushing you away?”

Spike relented and gave him a kiss on the temple, pulling his head down roughly to do it (no doubt to avoid any ‘poofiness’). “Git,” he said, affectionately, and left.

Angel flexed his fists a bit. He wanted to hurry after him, but he knew that would just make Spike feel like he was being followed. He went back to the kitchen to read a bit more of the newspaper before heading down.

***

Spike could feel the looks he was getting: knowing smirks from some, blushing and averted eyes from others.

By the time he made it to the labs, he was pissed off and holding his coat wrapped around himself.

Fred came out from behind a tangle of science fiction equipment, waving. “Hey, Spike! How are you feeling?”

“Like bloody Hester Prynne.” The leather coat creaked as Spike drew it tighter. “You’d think people hadn’t seen a vampire before.”

“Oh, Spike. I meant _physically_.” She peered at him and squeezed his shoulder. “You took one heck of a beating.”

“Wasn’t all a beating,” Spike said, quietly.

Fred tugged on his sleeve. “Can you take this off?”

Soon she had him up on the exam table in his shirt sleeves while she touched cold instruments to him and poked him with rubber-gloved fingers.

“I told you, couple days of rest and plenty of blood, that’s all I needed.”

“Mm-hm,” said Fred. She took a step back and started pulling off her gloves. “So let’s talk about the non-physical, then.”

He scowled and looked away. “I’m fine.”

“You were under a lust drug for days! And Angel, too… that can change how you feel about a guy.”

Spike slumped. “I feel like I just woke up and suddenly me an’ the pouf are an item.”

“Well,” Fred gave him a coy smile as she turned to drop her gloves in the waste bin, “there were signs.”

“There were not.” He shot her an offended look.

“Come on, Spike. No one was exactly falling over with shock! You and Angel, the way you fight, the way you look at each other…” She shrugged.

“So you’re saying everyone just thinks I’m a man-slut? I suppose I was asking for what Nolex did to me, too?”

“You know that’s not what I’m saying.”

“Well, what are you saying?” Spike snatched up his coat and jumped off the exam table. “I have Angel mooning over me. I’m finally all healed up for what feels like sodding ages and I can’t leave the fucking building. What am I supposed to do, Fred?” He yanked his lapels, straightening his coat. “Tell me that. Right now, I feel I was better off incorporeal.” He paused his rant to see Fred looking like he’d hit her and his shoulders sagged. “Sorry, love. Don’t mean to take it out on you.”

“You can leave the building,” she said.

“That’s not what Angel said.”

“You _can_. Just… with Angel or his appointed representative. I think.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Oh, great. Yes, that’s not trapped at all. Good old grand-sire can ground me at will.”

“Come on, Angel wouldn’t do that. He’s not like that.” Fred nudged him.

“Think I know Angel pretty well, love.”

Fred patted his arm and led him toward the front of the lab. “You knew evil Angel. I know good Angel. Trust me, he’s got your best interests at heart. Go, talk to him.”

“I’ve been talking to him.”

“There’s talking and there’s talking.” They’d reached the door to the lab. “Anyway, I have a somewhat scary experiment to get done and I’d rather not have loiterers around, even the undead variety.”

Spike looked out into the peaceful, empty hall, and felt suddenly helpless. “Fred, where do I go to find out the particulars of this contract or arrangement or whatever you call it Lindsey set up?”

“Well, you could ask Lindsey. They put him on the fourth floor.”

Spike turned, eyebrows raised. “That wanker’s still here?”

“It’s kinda like Eve. Or crabgrass. We can’t get rid of him.”

Spike nodded and headed down the corridor, but he was damned if he was going to visit Lindsey. He met every casual glance with a glare, and people mostly just cleared a path for him. He found himself wondering what their expressions would have been, what they were thinking.

Christ, he was turning into a girl.

But was Fred right? Spike thought something wasn’t right with Angel, that the way Angel was treating him was wrong, but everyone else seemed to think differently. And he couldn’t help but feel responsible. He had given in. Many times, now. Because it was just easier than arguing with Angel, and then Angel had this way of making him feel guilty, turning their arguments upside down and inside out, and he wasn’t sure if he was just stupid or it actually was selfish not to let Angel fuck him whenever he wanted. Either way, at this point, he was way beyond "leading him on".

He found Gunn in his office and knocked on his door-frame. “Hey, Charley. I need a lawyer.”

Gunn held up one finger to indicate he was still talking to the person on the other side of his phone, but he nodded, and that, at least, made Spike feel better.


	25. The Paperwork

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes! Another chapter! I'm so sorry for having left you all hanging for so long. The good news is, I recently had a bit of a brainstorm and I think I may actually have an idea how this fic will END. Not that it will any time soon. :D
> 
> So, here ya go! I had to re-write bits of this chapter because they just weren't working, but I think it's kinda okay now. Uh... no special warnings. Except I do end it in a mean place.

Spike scanned the spread papers on Gunn’s desk with his forehead creased with concentration.

“So, does that explain everything?” Gunn asked.

Spike’s mouth hung open a moment, and he scowled. “In English, lawyer-boy. I don’t speak… whatever the hell this is supposed to be.”

“Most of it’s Latin.”

“Could have fooled me.”

Gunn sighed. “Okay, look, the short of it is – if you want this undone, you need to sue for emancipation. I can file the paperwork and get you a hearing. You’ll sit down before a judge and he’ll ask you some questions. You’ll have to prove you’re competent to take care of yourself.”

“For fuck’s sake, I’m one hundred and…”

“And you’re currently on the records as mentally disabled. You’re probably going to need a doctor’s affidavit to counter that.”

“I’ll get Fred to write one up.”

Gunn looked down, biting his lip.

“Wot?”

“Spike, we had Fred sign off on the disability paperwork.”

Spike sunk back in his chair. “Oh.”

“Don’t look like that. You know she did it – we did it, all of us, to get you away from Nolex. And come on, this is Angel we tied you to, someone you can trust.”

“Right,” Spike smiled without humor. He slapped the table. “Okay, Charlie. So we find another doc. Can you hook me up?”

“Uh… well, we must have some staff physicians. I’d ask Wes. Let me get a copy of the form you’ll need.”

Spike left Gunn’s office unsure if progress had been made or not. He certainly had a pile of papers and to-do lists and notes. It didn’t feel like getting out of there. He could see why Angel always looked so constipated these days. All the flimsy abstraction of words and papers, card houses resting on card houses, turned power into impotence. As for starting out with no power at all…

Someone bumped into him. Without looking up, Spike growled, “Mind where you’re going, wanker.”

“Heh. Where I’m going? No, guess I don’t mind.”

Whoever it was didn’t back off, but stayed uncomfortably close. A hand brushed Spike’s hip. Spike turned and nearly threw his papers at him.

Lindsey smiled his disingenuous smile while Spike took a step back. “Bloody hell. You. You’ve got a lot of nerve, showing up around here.”

“Showing up? Hell, I work here, Spike.” His eyes flicked briefly down. “You dropped something.”

Spike started to reach down, then hesitated. His eyes flicked down and came back up, too. Lindsey smirked and his lips parted. Before he could let loose with some remark, Spike bent and snatched up the paper, which, for all he knew, could be the key to getting his ridiculous ‘dependant’ status revoked.

“Afraid to bend over?” Lindsey asked, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Piss off. Know I’m not your type.” Spike turned to stalk down the corridor.

Lindsey moved quickly to cut him off. “I wouldn’t be too sure about that.”

Spike squinted at him, but then shook his head. “Nice try, but I think I’m through believing any words that come out of your mouth.”

“Ouch,” said Lindsey, shaking his head.

“You were expecting, what? You played me before, and now you’re playing me again.”

“You think I wouldn’t pick fucking you over hell?” Lindsey asked, voice calm. He took a languid step forward.

Spike jumped out of the way as fingertips grazed his groin. He balled his fist. Only the sound of crackling papers stopped him from slugging the lawyer – it might mess up his forms.

“Let’s be honest,” Lindsey said, tilting his head back. “I thought about it. About you. A time or two. But I had a plan to see through.”

“Oh, that would be the one where you made a fool out of me to get at Angel?” Spike asked, eyebrows raised mockingly.

“And you never made a shit plan?” Lindsey ducked his head a little, hair falling over his self-deprecating smile. “Never lost your head a bit over Angel?”

Spike took another step back. “We are not the same, _Doyle._ ”

“Maybe not, but just so you know, I’ve got one foot in hell and the other on a banana peel. You know a thing or two about that, don’t you?”

“I know enough to see this sudden interest in yours truly is woefully convenient.”

Lindsey jerked backward. “Convenient? You think this is convenient for me?”

“Yeah, I do. Because the blokes holding that foot of yours in hell want Angel to be unbalanced, and you getting your sweaty cowboy stink on me would send him over the flippin’ edge.”

Lindsey lowered his lashes. “You want to get me sweaty?”

Spike did punch him, then. He flew into the nearest wall, sending plaster dust falling.

Spike stormed off, muttering half-formed retorts. Lindsey picked himself up, dusted his slacks and sighed. “Sure. Seduce the vampire. Easy.”

***

Wesley’s office was right next to Angel’s, and Angel was hanging out by Harmony’s desk. By the grateful look Harmony flashed him when he appeared, Spike guessed the old tit had been making more of a nuisance of himself than usual.

“Spike!” Angel all but jumped up like an eager puppy. “Uh… how was… the stuff you were doing?”

“Lovely. ‘Scuse me a minute, forehead. Need to speak to your watcher.”

But of course Angel trotted up next to him. “There’s no hurry is there? Is something wrong? Something I can fix?”

“Angel,” Spike groaned. “I have some paperwork to fill out. Give me half a moment to dump it off on Wes, will you?”

Angel’s frown told Spike he shouldn’t have said that. “Paperwork? What for? Let me see it.” He reached for the papers and Spike only just pulled them back before Angel snatched them away.

“Just something Gunn gave me to give him,” Spike said hurriedly. Angel was really starting to look suspicious, so Spike took a quick step closer and lowered his voice. “Go on back to your big, executive desk, Liam, and I’ll be along shortly.” He let his hand slide down Angel’s chest. “Why don’t you use the time to clear your schedule and practice being commanding?”

Spike was rewarded with an expression most comparable to a kid on Christmas morning seeing the bike he’d desperately wanted under the tree. He almost forgot his errand, laughing as Angel ran back to his office.

Harmony mouthed “Thank you!” and rolled her eyes extravagantly.

“Christ, I’m the manipulative girlfriend,” Spike muttered, shook his head, and went into Wesley’s office without knocking.

Which was not, perhaps, the wisest choice he’d made all day. Wes was hunched over his desk, his palms flat over two open tomes. His eyes glowed orange and incense curled around him as he chanted in a staccato demon language Spike didn’t recognize.

Spike let the door close behind him and crossed his arms, leaning back against it. “Well, fuck. This is going to take more than a minute.”

Wesley raised his head, the color drained out of his eyes, but they looked more intimidating in the natural blue, sparkling with anger. “What is so important you had to barge in here? I’m very obviously in the middle of something.”

Spike cleared his throat. “Gunn said to talk to you. Uh… about getting me all emancipated. Something about a doctor and these forms?”

Christ, he sounded like an idiot at the DMV.

“Put the forms on that chair and get. Out.”

“Sure, Wes. Um… should I?”

“I will contact you. Now leave.”

Spike quickly complied. “It’s all mad scientists and warlocks around here,” he muttered to himself, “and people wonder why I say this place is a bad idea.”

“You’re telling me,” Harmony said. She leaned back in her chair, filing her nails. “And if you ask what they’re doing, they’re all ‘oh you wouldn’t understand’, but then Bossy expects me to just, like KNOW there’s an infestation of gremlins in the copier room.”

“Keep fighting the good fight, Harm,” Spike said, and headed to Angel’s office door.

“Lock the door this time!” she called after him, “And, omigawd, keep it down. Some people actually WORK here.”

And so it was with an air of sublime irony that he entered the dimly lit office. Angel was leaning back in his big executive chair, a smoldering look on his face. The air was anticipatory and heavy. Spike adjusted the lay of his coat on his shoulders and smirked. “Well, now, let’s get to work.”


	26. The S.O.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look! Another chapter! And it hasn't even been a week! See, I said I'd be better...
> 
> This one even has Spangel pron in it! Forgive the cliche opening... I tried and failed to think of a better one. Sometimes a good cliche isn't so bad, eh?

Angel’s eyes burned like coals as Spike sauntered slowly up to him. His legs opened and he slid down a bit in his chair.

“Spike,” he said, evenly.

Spike straddled his lap. “Angel.”

Angel tried to look stern for almost fifteen seconds before giving up the pretense and pulling Spike tightly to him, teeth clacking as he kissed him hungrily.

Angel’s mouth tasted of home and blood. Spike enjoyed tasting the familiarity, and he liked the friction of Angel’s body straining against his, building warmth pleasantly and evenly. Angel’s big hands moved over his back, pressing and possessing, and that was nice, too. He cupped Spike’s shoulders from behind and pulled him down, and they were as tight together as it was possible to be, flesh throbbing with the desire to be even closer. Spike wriggled, got his fingers to Angel’s shirt and although he had intended to unbutton, his first fumbling attempt took too long and he just tugged and ripped the silk open. Angel’s skin was smooth and lovely against his palms. Angel pushed him down.  
Spike found himself sliding off Angel’s lap, he scrambled to stay where he was, but Angel kept pushing down, widening his legs so Spike fell neatly between them.

Spike rolled his eyes. He ran his hands up Angel’s thighs while Angel held him firmly in place from the shoulders. “Subtle, that’s what you are.”

“You wanted me to be commanding,” Angel said, in a low, dangerous voice. His thumbs circled against Spike’s neck, just under his jaw, with pressure just on the edge of painful.

Spike felt a shiver – he had to admit that did something for him, or to him. “I was kind of hoping for a quick shag,” he said, glancing, as much as he could against the hands holding his throat, significantly toward the desk.

“And I was hoping we’d put that mouth of yours to good use for a change,” Angel replied, running the pad of his thumb over Spike’s lower lip.

Spike pulled his thumb into his mouth, swirling it with his tongue, enjoying the salty taste and the rough texture. Angel made a sound suspiciously like a purr and Spike wondered if this was not, perhaps, the way to convince him to skip the blow job.

Angel hissed as his thumb popped free and pulled Spike up for a hot, passionate kiss. Spike used the opportunity to crawl up into Angel’s lap again, which wasn’t too hard as it felt like Angel was trying to pull his head off.

But then Angel broke off the kiss and shoved him hard to the floor. “Get to work, boy.”

Spike seethed, wiping saliva with the back of his hand. “Sodding hate it when you call me ‘boy’.”

Angel’s smile had a warmth Angelus’ would never have had when he said, “I know,” and bent to kiss Spike again, tenderly this time.

“Liam,” Spike breathed as they broke apart. “You’re killing me.”

Angel chuckled. His cheek brushed against Spike’s as he nuzzled close to his ear. “Well, that’s what sires are for,” he said, and bent to nip at Spike’s neck.

Spike arched into the sensation, hissing, and grabbed Angel, pulling him out of his chair. They tumbled together, licking, kissing, and biting, banging into the desk and the wall as they fought each other’s clothes to get their hands on skin.

Spike hooked Angel’s waistband with his toes and stripped his slacks off while he grabbed his cock, alive and strong and oh so hard in his hand. He gave it a squeeze and sank his fangs into Angel’s shoulder. Angel’s hands tightened on his hips and the larger vampire surged forward with a growl.

And Spike knew then that he was going to get his way. He laughed as Angel slammed into him. Everything was blood and friction and violence for a time. A new kind of fight, just as joyous.

Some time later, Spike glanced around, trying to find where his coat, and thereby his cigarettes, had ended up. He found himself looking straight at the shiny reflective surface of a battle-ax, half imbedded in the grey carpet next to his head. He craned his head back to see the empty hooks on the wall. It wasn’t the only weapon they’d knocked loose from the display. “Heh. That could have been bad.”

Angel made a noncommittal sound against Spike’s chest.

Spike poked at his large shoulder, which seemed to be glued to Spike’s chest with a thin layer of sweat, cum and blood. “Geddoff, you big lummox. You make a better anchor than a blanket.”

Slowly, Angel picked himself up. He looked down at Spike and shook his head. “I can’t believe I have to get through the rest of the work day.”

Spike wriggled his shoulders. “I can’t believe I have any skin left on my back. What’s this carpet made of? Cement?”

Angel paused to kiss Spike’s abdomen and crawled back into his chair. He picked his silk shirt off the desk and grimaced at the state it was in before slipping into it.

For a while they were quiet, gathering their clothes, slipping them on. Spike perched on the edge of Angel’s desk wearing nothing but his unbuttoned jeans and lit a cigarette, which he passed to Angel as the latter shrugged into his suit jacket.

“So I’ll leave you to your soul-crushing job, then,” Spike said. “Meet you back in the flat after five?”

Angel blew out smoke with a contented sigh and checked his hair with one hand. “Right. Uh… yeah. But before you go. Um…” He handed the cigarette back.

Spike rolled his eyes. “Please tell me we’re not going to have a ‘relationship’ discussion every time we shag.” He stuck the cigarette in his mouth and let it dangle while he went to retrieve his shirt.

“I know you were trying to get rid of me, earlier. What was on those papers?”

Spike found his t-shirt was in two smallish pieces. He dropped it and shrugged into his duster. “Come on! You liked me playing you like that.”

Angel walked over to Spike and grinned dopily. “Yeah, I really did.” He let his fingers play over Spike’s hair, catching a little curl. He frowned. “But, seriously, Spike. I can’t begin to understand why you would have anything to do with paperwork. Unless you’re keeping something from me.”

Spike sighed. He put his hands on either side of Angel’s face. “It’s not a secret. It’s about getting this Nolex mess sorted, requesting an emancipation hearing so I don’t have to be your kept boy.”

Angel looked hurt. “I thought you liked being with me.”

“It’s not about being with you. It’s about being allowed to leave the sodding building.”

Angel wrapped his arms around Spike. “Can’t we just enjoy this while it lasts?”

“You really think the minute I can leave, I will?” Spike held his cigarette far out so it wouldn’t get in the way.

Angel’s face answered the question clearly enough.

“Bloody hell, Peaches. Have I left yet? How about when I got turned corporeal?”

“You beat me up and nearly staked me.”

“Oh, that was all one-sided, was it?”

Angel leaned into Spike. “And you ran off with Harmony.”

Spike kissed Angel and took a step back. “I promise you mean more to me than Harmony. Git.” He flicked ashes at the embedded ax in the floor.

“What are we?” Angel asked.

Spike snorted and turned away. “A pair of emotionally retarded vampires.”

Angel moved between Spike and the exit. “I mean to each other. Come on, Spike. Are we a couple, or is this just… screwing around to you?”

“What do you want, Angel? A declaration of undying love?”

Angel looked askance a moment. “Uh… yes.”

Part of Spike wanted to slug him, but he looked so pathetic. Spike put his hands on Angel’s shoulders. “Yes, Angel, I love you. Yes, we’re a couple.”

Angel kissed his forehead. “Was that so hard?”

“You’ve no idea.” Spike rolled his eyes and rolled on his heel to face the door again. “See you at the flat.”

“See you at home,” Angel amended, gripping Spike’s arm just a moment before letting him go.

Spike glanced back at him a moment. “Yeah, home,” he said, a slightly awed expression on his face.


	27. The Cocktail Hour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, well, at least I'm posting regularly, even if this is all dialog. Lorne in this chapter!

Spike had spent a pleasant night with Angel, albeit a little oddly domestic. The old sap had insisted on serving up their dinner of blood like it was a home cooked meal. And then they had gone out to clean out a vampire nest together like it was a date. (What kind of loser tried to turn that into a romantic occasion?)

It had been fun, and they’d been both too tired to shag before bed, which meant lovely morning sex before breakfast.

Wolfram and Hart had a lounge on the top floor. A quiet little executive bar little bigger than a conference room, with décor similar to Angel’s apartment and a commanding view of the city. Spike retreated to it when he’d exhausted his list of people to bother for the day and more often than not he’d find it empty save for the bartender, who was nearly always leaning on the bar, a thick textbook between his elbows.

He was a law student, the poor sod.

Spike ended up in the lounge earlier than usual, out of ideas how to fill his time until he met the “SO” for dinner.

Lorne sat in one of the armchairs by the windows, staring out at the city with cocktail in one hand. He didn’t appear to be actually drinking it. But then, Spike had suspected Lorne just carried a cocktail by default. It was a little weird, now in an actual bar setting.

“Hey, Josh. How’re the books?” Spike greeted the bartender.

Josh looked bleary-eyed. “Long,” he said. He blinked and pushed back. “Do you want your usual?”

Spike took the whiskey and sat on the arm of the chair next to Lorne’s. “Early day for you, Green Jeans?”

“It’s all one day for me,” Lorne said, with a ghost of cheer. He took a sip of his drink, his eyes still on the horizon.

“Feels that way for me, too. When you’re always indoors… well, anyway, I’m glad I ran into you. Wanted to ask you about Lindsey.”

Lorne’s finally turned to regard Spike, and his eyes were tight with concern. “Why?”

“Well, you did that thing of yours, that future-reading thing, right?”

Lorne stared at Spike a long, silent moment, and then turned back to the windows. “Client confidentiality, sugar cake.”

Spike scratched his nose. “Yeah, well you’re taking this one seriously, because Gunn says you didn’t even give him a thumbs up or down.”

“He can stay where he is.” Lorne took another drink, though now he was looking at the horizon like it had insulted him.

“Bloody hell, Lorne. What crawled into your head and died?”

Lorne blinked and slipped back into his more usual, quietly pleasant expression. “Sorry, lemon drop. There’s just a lot on my mind. The future, the past.” He tossed a hand dismissively over his shoulder. “What’s up with you?

Spike shrugged his shoulders and tried to sound as causal as possible, now that Lorne had relaxed. “I was just wondering about that Lindsey bloke. He keeps dogging me.”

“Honestly, I couldn’t tell you for sure. But he’s going an ugly way, cupcake. I’d steer clear.”

Spike nodded. “I suspected as much. Thanks, though.”

Lorne turned fully toward Spike, dropping an elbow behind the back of his chair and a knee over the arm. “Now let’s talk about something more pleasant, shall we? How are things with you and Angel?”

Spike half-laughed. “Think he’ll be asking me to help pick out curtains any day now.”

“Well, that’s encouraging. You know, we’re all so happy for you two. After Cordy passed… well, I know I’m not the only one who worried our big, brooding boss man would never find love again.” Lorne toasted Spike. “He’s better, you know, when he’s with someone. More connected to the mundane, less lost in that sad old head of his.”

Spike scratched the back of his head and glanced at Josh, whose eyes were closed as he sagged over his book. “I dunno. You don’t… you don’t think he’s a bit… possessive?” Spike looked anxiously at Lorne.

“Uh… do vampires drink blood? Do I drink vodka? Darling, he’s more possessive than a toddler with a new toy.”

“You don’t think that’s going to be a problem?”

Lorne’s expression was suddenly very hard to read. Tightly, he said, “Not if you don’t give him a reason to be jealous.”

“Is that advice, or something you see in the future?”

Lorne smiled. “Just don’t. Okay?”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Spike said. He picked up his drink and downed it.

“Don’t look so sour, gorgeous. I have your well-being at heart as well as his. You two have a real chance at happiness, you know that, don’t you?”

Spike thought he could not have been told a more surprising thing. He coughed to cover up his vulnerability. “Uh… thanks.”

“But you have to be careful,” Lorne said, staring at him intently with his unnerving red eyes. “This isn’t a joke. One mistake could ruin everything.” He sighed and fell back in his chair, looking glumly at his empty glass. “And that’s all I can say. You have no idea how tricky this seer business is. Say too much and it’s as good as saying, ‘here, do the absolute worst thing you can’.”

“No, I believe you,” Spike said. “That seeing the future shite ought to drive you batty. Lord knows it sent Dru ‘round the bend.” He gave a small toast to his princess, but found his drink was empty too. He sighed, “Want a refill?”

“Like breathing,” Lorne said, and entrusted Spike with his glass.

Spike refilled both their beverages – though he had no idea what Lorne was drinking so he mixed grenadine and gin. That was sort of the right color. It must have been acceptable, because as Lorne sipped the concoction, he said, “Keep this up, and I’ll have a job for you when we leave this place.”

“Think we’re getting out of here?”

“Oh yes. That’s one I’m certain of. Just the timing and circumstances that vary.” Lorne took another sip and muttered, “Thank god.”

Spike resumed his seat. “Wes set me up an appointment with the company psychiatrist. Uh… you have any opinion on him?”

“No, not that I recall specifically. I read the whole staff, you know. Agony. The ideas some people have about pitch! Anyway, anyone who is still here didn’t ping the radar. Of course, that just means they didn’t have a super-evil destiny. Not all that promising. But, really, we’d have no staff at all if we got rid of everyone with a streak of dark.”

Spike looked less than pleased with the vague answer, but he shrugged. “Guess I’ll find out what he’s like.”

“Now, not that I don’t support vampire therapy – and lord knows every vamp I’ve ever met needs some – but why the trip to the doc, sugarlump?”

“I just need his signature on a form that says I’m mentally competent.”

“Oh dear.”

“Oi!”

Lorne pretended to have noticed something fascinating out the window. “Well, good luck with that,” he said.

“Thanks for the stellar vote of confidence,” Spike muttered. He dropped back off the chair arm and into the seat, looking out at the city as well. “At least we get out of this place eventually.”

“Not all of us,” Lorne said, quietly.

Spike chewed his lip, but knew better than to press a seer when they spoke in a tone like that, full of finality. “I’m going to wake up Josh. We need a lot more liquor.”

“No arguments here,” Lorne said, and smiled.

They spent the rest of the afternoon pleasantly drunk.


	28. The Psychiatrist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More dialog and plot instead of smut, alas, but I swear the smut returns in the next chappie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet more!! I know! Two days in a row! But Ash is back and I wanted to give her a treat. :)
> 
> Also, I have acrylic nails now and learning to type with them is... challenging. How do people do this? :P

Spike didn’t know what to expect, given the diversity at Wolfram and Hart, but he was surprised to see a rather pleasant woman in her forties with graying blonde hair swept up into a stylish twist. “Hello, you must be Spike,” she said, rising from her desk with a smile to shake his hand. “I’m Ellen.”

Spike glanced at her name-plate on the desk. “Doctor Ellen Malvolio? How’d you get such a normal first name then, doc?”

“We can’t all be ‘Drako’ or ‘Blackheart’.”

“Blackheart?”

She chuckled and waved dismissively. “My cousin. And a total sweetie, too. Please, have a seat.”

Spike looked at the couch and arm chairs arranged like a small sitting room next to the desk. “You don’t expect me to lie down and hold a box of tissues, do you?”

“That policy is only for cartoons and movies. Wherever or however you feel comfortable, please.” She gestured grandly at the chairs and stood attentively until Spike dropped into a sprawl at one end of the couch.

She sat across from him with a notepad in her lap. “So, I see that you are looking to contest a ruling that you are mentally unfit.”

“That whole thing was just a mess of legal bollocks to get me out of a bad situation,” Spike said. “I’m sane as the next vampire.”

Ellen touched her pen to her lips a moment. “Do you think it’s a good idea to start out this process by accusing your friends of fraud?”

“You do work for an evil law firm. You did notice that, didn’t you, doc?”

She tilted her head. “Did my question make you feel threatened?”

“I don’t believe this. Is everything I say going to be answered with a question?” Spike held up his hand as she started to answer. “Don’t. Just don’t. Look, doc, I’m not here for therapy, all right? Isn’t there some questionnaire or test you can give me so you can sign my bloody form and we can both go back to our normal lives?”

She set her note pad down on her lap and rested her hands over it. “I’m not here to sign off a form, Spike. I’m here to do a job, one I take very seriously: to safeguard the mental well-being of our staff.”

“Goody for you, love, but I’m not staff.”

“You are an official company chattel, Spike. That makes your mental state my business. Now please, relax. This really won’t be as painful as you obviously fear. I’m not going to ask embarrassing or probing questions. I just want to hear about how you feel.”

“How I feel?”

“Please.”

Spike jumped up. “I’m fucking chattel! How do you think I feel?” He paced the narrow space in front of the couch. “Can’t remember the last time I had a fucking CHOICE. Did I give it all up when I put on that amulet? Should I? Fuck, I was ready and willing to die for the cause. I was done. Now I’m… what? Angel’s sodding live-in? When did I decide that? How can I suddenly be in a relationship with my nemesis, my mentor, my…” Spike threw his hands up in the inability to describe what Angel was. He saw the doctor watching his rant calmly and deflated a little, folding his arms and leaning against the wall. “Well, am I crazy?”

The doctor smiled reassuringly, an expression that was far too honest and warm looking to be faked, which made Spike wonder if it was. “You feel powerless,” she said.

Spike nodded, not sure if that was a question.

“What would you do, if you had the power to do anything you wanted, right now?”

Spike laughed hollowly and leaned his head back against the wall behind him. “Shouldn’t be a hard question, should it?”

“Don’t be afraid to say whatever comes to mind.”

Spike closed his eyes, embarrassed by her earnestness. Here was, despite the working for Wolfram and Hart bit, what was in all likelihood an honest, good person, listening to a vampire’s neurotic rambling. “I’d be the hero, I guess. Just… save the day. Get the girl. Maybe all I want to hear is someone say ‘you did good, Spike. Thank you.’”

“What about Angel? Is he a part of that dream?”

“Heh. Wouldn’t hurt if he was the one saying it.”

“You don’t feel Angel respects you.”

Again, it didn’t sound like a question. Spike shrugged. “Sometimes I don’t think he even knows me.”

“But you know him.”

Spike shrugged. “Better than Buffy, maybe not as well as Darla, but yeah, I know him. Know his moods and his vanities. His flaws. His bleeding awful taste. But he’s the big man, isn’t he? Despite it all, he comes out on top.”

“Do you want to exchange places with Angel?”

“Hell no.” Spike smiled. “Heh. That was easy to decide, wasn’t it? No, I don’t want to be what he is now – trapped in a devil’s bargain, wrapped in Armani and guilt. It’s going to drive him ‘round the bend.”

“Do you want to save him from that?”

“Yeah.” Spike shook his head. “Even if it means never getting that hero spot for myself, I’d like to see him back in it. It’s where he belongs, yeah?”

Ellen made a quiet sound, not quite a hum, and wrote something on her notepad. Spike shifted his weight and looked away, suddenly feeling a little naked. “Anyway, it would serve the big arse right. There’s nothing he hates more than when I rescue him. There was this one time, this little critter was on him, sucking his brains out or whatever, and the poor sod was all alone in his great bloody suite…” Spike trailed off. “Anyway, turns out it was a fix-up. They planted the bug and they made sure I was there to save him.”

“Who is ‘they’?”

Spike grimaced. “Doesn’t really matter.”

“So, would you say this incident, where you were set up to play the hero, was satisfying?”

He looked at his boots on the nice grey carpet. “No. It was sad, the whole business.”

“Perhaps, then being the hero is not what you really want.”

Spike returned to the couch. “All right, doc, you tell me, what do I want?”

“To be loved.”

“Damn. You might actually be good at your job.”

She smiled. “It’s not hard to see. Do you feel Angel doesn’t love you?”

“Like I said, he doesn’t know me. It’s like we’re not in the same world, sometimes.”

Ellen leaned forward, as though she might take Spike’s hand. He leaned back, eyeing her warily. She just smiled comfortingly. “Are you waiting for him to see you?”

“I don’t speak ‘touchy-feely’, Doc.”

“It sounds to me like you need to take action, that your sense of helplessness is in part caused by not knowing what action to take, or by not being able to decide on what action to take.”

“Uh… sounds about right.” He frowned.

“I think we’re making progress at last. Before our next session, I’d like you to make a list…”

“Hold on a sec, doc! What next session? Can’t you just fill out my form? You can see I’m not bloody incompetent!”

“There’s no need to raise your voice, Spike. I think we need a couple sessions, at the least.”

Spike jumped to his feet again. “I’ve been talking to you for a bloody hour. I’m not a raving lunatic or a moron, for Christ’s sake!”

She looked at him steadily and calmly until he gave up and glared at her silently. She flipped a page on her notepad. “So, pending permission from your guardian, how does Thursday at two work for you?”

Spike sighed. “Fine.” He answered questions with a grunt or nod until he was able to stomp out of there and straight to the training room where he took out his frustrations on every breakable object.

***

Dr. Malvolio stood before Angel’s desk, watching as he frowned over the documents she’d handed him. “As guardian, you have a right to this transcript, of course, but you can choose to respect his privacy and not read it. Either way, I wouldn’t let him know you have it. If he suspects, he may be less forthcoming in future sessions.”

Angel looked up. “What do you think, doc?”

“Psychologically? He seems very vulnerable. Emotionally needy. Insecure. But that’s not necessarily a bad thing. The more relevant question is: what do you want?”

“I want Spike to be happy,” Angel said.

“Yes, sir, of course you do, but would you rather he was happy on his own or with you?”

Angel shifted uncomfortably. “Are you really allowed to ask that?”

“We aren’t the AMA here, Mr. Angel. Normal rules of patient confidentiality and consent don’t apply. You say the word and I will provide counseling to help Spike make the choice you want him to.”

Angel stared at her. “I… really can’t do that. It’s not right.”

“Of course, sir. I’m only giving you the option.”

“You think he’s going to leave.”

“I believe what he wants most is autonomy. At this point, a successful emancipation would result in his leaving. That is my professional opinion.”

“I can’t…” Angel looked pained. “Look, if there’s any non-evil way to convince him? I mean, I know he can be happy here.”

“Naturally. Let’s go over some treatment options, Mr. Angel. I’m sure you’ll find something to your taste.” With the air of a waiter opening a menu, the doctor set a bulleted list before him.


	29. The Proposed Treatment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Okay, so I took a vacation there, did you miss me?
> 
> This chapter is... well, I'm not happy with it, but I have this plot idea, and it needed to be put out there. So, warnings for boring exposition!

“Of course I recommend you keep to the lightest affective dose, and once habit has formed, ween him off the medication.”

Angel rotated the orange-tinted bottle. “And that’s all it does?”

Dr. Malvolio smiled a little tightly. “I assure you, I am a great proponent of minimal treatment. The less you meddle, the less you can mess up.”

“You think this might mess him up?”

She rolled her eyes. “If you don’t want to take my word on it, there is a write up on the research in the company’s files. This is the fifth treatment option we’ve discussed to exhaustion and I do have other appointments today, Mr. Angel.”

Angel chewed his lower lip. The light caught jewel-like in the translucent plastic and the almost glowing yellow capsules inside. “No… this seems…”

“Less evil than the alternatives?” Ellen provided with a small smirk. She patted Angel’s hand. “I’m glad you approve. I was running out of ideas.”

***

Spike came home well after Angel, and flung and stomped around. Angel pretended to keep reading his book, although he’d already lost track of where he was on the page.

“I’m repressing? I’ll show that dozy bint who’s repressing. Where’s the good whiskey? Angel!”

“In here,” Angel said, and cleared his throat.

Spike stomped into the bedroom, his eyes on the decanter next to Angel. “Thank Christ,” he said, and snatched it up.

Angel closed his book without marking the page – he’d read it before, anyway. “You seem upset.”

Spike guzzled fine scotch straight from the crystal decanter like it was mad dog in a paper bag. “Heh. Understatement, Peaches. It’s that daft shrink of yours. Can’t you just make her sign my form?”

“Uh… I wish I could.”

“I don’t need sodding therapy and I’m sick of her nasty little questions.”

Angel took the bottle from Spike. “Well, I’ll have a word with her.”

Spike looked like he was going to fight for it, but then just sagged, dropping into the chair Angel had just vacated. “Thanks.”

“This was only your second session. Is it really that bad?” Angel set the whiskey on the bedside table.

Spike looked up at Angel, lips pursed. He huffed, looked away, looked back, and then asked, “Am I insecure?”

And Spike looked so vulnerable, so worried, so, well, insecure, that Angel had to bite his lip to keep from laughing. And then Spike scowled at him.

“Baby,” Angel said, and drew him up into his arms. “I love you anyway.”

“Don’t call me ‘baby’,” Spike grumbled, but submitted to the hug. “She said I won’t let myself be loved. Something about insecurity and being afraid of being hurt.”

Angel felt the way Spike leaned against him, hung onto him for support, and his heart swelled. “You know I will never, ever let you go. You know that, right?”

“Maybe that’s what I’m afraid of,” Spike said, quietly, his head on Angel’s shoulder.

“Ssh,” Angel said, running his hands up and down Spike’s back – and then mostly down, pressing his body close. Spike always felt so nice against him, so hard and strong but smaller, almost delicate, making Angel feel powerful.

As Angel started to pull him toward the bed, Spike squirmed. “Not in the mood, Peaches.”

Angel pushed away. “Are you only in the mood when you want something?”

Spike gaped at him. Angel relented in the face of his hurt. “I’m sorry, baby.” He gathered Spike into a hug again, although he stiffened and protested. “I’m just horny. Why do you tease me like that?”

“I’m not trying to bloody tease you. Can’t I just not be in the mood?”

Angel went back to the whiskey decanter and his glass. “Sorry. I… well, I’m a little on edge. Dr. Malvolio came to see me today, before your session.”

“Oh. And what, pray tell, did you discuss? My ‘unreasonable expectations of love’? My ‘dependent nature’?” Spike made air quotes with angry ferocity and resumed his pacing. “She’s the unreasonable one.”

Angel turned, drink in hand, and waited for Spike to complete one of his circuits of the room so he would be facing him. “You aren’t going to get her to sign your form by fighting about it.”

“And what, pray tell, do you suggest?”

Angel looked at his drink, suddenly unsure what to say.

“Oh bloody hell no.”

Angel looked up. “I didn’t say anything.”

Spike had his hands on his hips. “Out with it. What’s the plan you’ve cooked up with that head shrinker? And try to remember this is my noggin we’re talking about.”

Angel set down his drink. “We discussed options for… speeding things up. She recommended a medication.”

“You honestly think I need that?” Spike’s anger evaporated into a quieter, hurt expression.

Angel was once again amazed at how quickly Spike’s moods changed. If anything, it was a sign the doctor was right. He crossed to the bedside table and got the pill bottle. He held it out to Spike, who took it and squinted at the label.

“It’s supposed to make you calmer, I guess. She said it was mild.” Angel felt fidgety so he put his hands in his pockets. “Anyway, I think we should try it. You know… to make her happy.”

“For treatment of mood disorders and willfulness,” Spike read from the label. He looked up. “Angel, this is a sodding slave drug.”

“No it’s not. She explained to me. We’d just use a mild dose to get you to relax and stop worrying all the time.”

“Yeah,” Spike tossed the bottle back to Angel, “And roofies are a great way to lessen your inhibitions.”

“You really don’t trust me.”

Spike threw up his arms. “I don’t trust her. I don’t trust this place. I don’t trust pharmaceuticals with ‘bespelled’ on the warning label!”

Angel sat down in the arm chair, rotating the pill bottle between his hands and staring at it. “I just want you to be happy.”

“Then let me go,” Spike said, and sighed when Angel looked at him gravely.

Spike sat down on the end of the bed. “You’re really set on this, aren’t you?”

“Nothing bad will happen to you. I’ll make sure of that. And the effects aren’t permanent.”

“And what if it leaves me a complete zombie?”

“It won’t.”

“What if it does?”

Angel moved to sit next to Spike on the bed. “If it does, we stop, I destroy, and I fire Dr. Malvolio.”

“All well and good, but I’ll still be a zombie.”

“No, you won’t,” Angel said, teasingly, and put his arm around Spike’s shoulders. “Just consider it.”

“All right, I’ll consider.”

Angel kissed him on the temple and got an irritated, but light, prod to the ribs in response.

Angel got up and put the pills back in the drawer in the bedside table. “They’ll be here,” he said, making sure Spike saw.

Spike rolled his eyes.

“But it’s your decision to make,” Angel said, carefully, like he was reading cue cards.

Spike smiled his fond patronizing, you-are-so-cute-when-you’re-a-dork smile. “And if I decide I never want to take them?”

Angel shrugged. “They were covered by the company medical plan. It’s no loss.”

“There might be hope for you yet,” Spike said, putting his hand on Angel’s shoulder.

Angel brightened. “Really? Do I get a reward?”

“Pouf.”

“Mmm, that sounds like I do get a reward,” Angel said, slipping his hands around Spike’s hips.

"That you barely deserve," Spike said, but there was a chuckle in his voice, and his lips responded eagerly to Angel's kiss.


	30. The Tragedy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm a crap porn-provider. I promised to be more prompt, and I failed.
> 
> Also, this chapter... well, not my best work. But... here ya go.
> 
> Oddly enough, I believe this is my first fic to reach 30 chapters. Yay for long!

Fred frowned down at a Petri dish, then turned to Spike with an apologetic smile for her inattention. “And then what happened?”

Spike shrugged. “He dropped it.”

“Well, good. That was a terrible idea!”

Spike slouched against the lab bench. “Can’t tell you how relieved I am to hear that.”

Fred gave him a quizzical look before carefully labeling the dish and setting it next to several others. “You sound like you weren’t sure I’d agree with you.”

“I don’t know what to think, lately. Every time I’m sure I’m in the right, Angel has an argument to show I’m wrong. Or that doctor does.” He ran a hand through his hair and muttered, “Not like I have a brilliant track record of being right.”

She lightly touched his sleeve with a gloved hand. “That’s just insecurity talking.”

“See? That’s what they say: my insecurity makes me irrational.” He made a face, then glanced nervously to check Fred’s expression.

“You’re not irrational.” She squeezed his arm before letting go to take off her gloves and write in her notebook. “And I wouldn’t stay with anyone who said I was.”

Spike watched her silently a moment before asking, “Are you saying I should break it off?”

Fred made an uncertain little noise. “Angel’s a good guy. I mean, I know he is, deep down. He’s very special to me, so of course I want you guys to be happy together.”

“I love you, Fred, but your advice is lacking in actual advice.”

She set the notebook down and turned her full attention to him. “You should talk. You have to make sure Angel understands how you feel. He’s hurting you and he doesn’t even realize it. Open up to him, in a non-confrontational way, and he’ll respond.”

He looked at her seriously a moment, then said, “You do realize we’re blokes, right?”

“Oh you!” She slapped his arm playfully.

“Ow!” he said, jokingly reeling from the blow.

Talk turned to other subjects as Spike followed Fred around her lab, joking with her workers and playfully getting in the way until she got a call from shipping and receiving and had to go take care of it.

He was still smiling when he wandered into Angel’s office, and for almost four seconds after that, until he saw the look on Angel’s face.

Spike stopped, in the middle of the room, and hooked his thumbs in his belt. “All right, Peaches, what did I do this time”

Angel glared at him silently for another beat, then made a show of turning a page on the document on his desk. “Go away, Spike. I’m busy.”

Spike watched Angel pretend to be absorbed in his work for a few moments, sighed, and said, “Well, then, I’ll just bugger off and leave you to your annoying silence thing.”

“Where have you been?”

Spike turned just shy of the door. Angel as standing now, looking petulant and hurt as well as angry. Spike sighed. “I was just with Fred. C’mon, Angel, it’s not that much later than I usually get back.”

“It’s practically four!”

Spike scowled. “And precisely how often are you expecting for me to check up with you, your highness?”

“If we usually meet at a certain time, don’t you think, are you capable of thinking, that I’d worry if you’re not here at that time?”

Spike almost laughed, raising his arms wide. “What is there to worry about? I’m locked in YOUR sodding building.”

“You’re acting like I want it this way. Like I chose this.”

“Uh… you did.”

Angel paused a moment in shock, then his jaw tightened with fury. His punch sent Spike into the wall over the couch.

Spike shook plaster dust from his hair. “Oh, so we’re going to do this, are we?” He launched himself at Angel.

***

Wesley looked over the paper Gunn had just handed him. “Nice work, you should tell Angel.”

A muffled crash came from the direction of Angel’s office.

Gunn winced. “You tell him. I ain’t goin’ in there.”

Another crash as followed by a heavy thud. Wesley winced. “I wish I could have my innocence back – when we thought they were just fighting.”

“Heh. Vampires, right?” Gunn took the paper back from Wesley and added it to a file, humming happily over his successful work.

“I think I’ll take care of… something, anything before I go see Angel,” Wes said.

Gunn nodded emphatically.

***

Angel lay on top of Spike, pinning his arms behind his back. “Why are you fighting me?”

Spike struggled. “Gah! You punched me first, berk!”

Angel was tired, and his favorite lamp was broken. He eased back. Spike immediately scrambled free. Angel sat back on his heels and sighed. “Spike… I… look, I’m sorry. It’s just that you act like you’d rather spend time with anyone but me.”

“And they call me insecure.” Spike gingerly wiped blood from his lips with the back of his hand. He kicked over the remains of the end-table.

“Why do we always have to fight?”

“Because you’re a dick.” Spike inspected a tear in his jeans. His shirt was pulled askew, his hair roughened into messy spikes, and a drop of blood trailed down one cheek like a tear.

Angel sidled up to him. Spike backed off with a hard jab at Angel’s arm. “I’m not ready to make up, yet,” he said.

Angel smiled. “That means you will be ready to make up, some time.”

“Fucking hell, Angel,” Spike pushed him away again. “You’re like a dog in heat.”

“Yes, thank you, Spike. Calling me a dog helps.”

“What do you want from me, Angel?”

“I want to not have to worry where you are or who you’re with.”

Spike rested a hand on Angel’s shoulder. “You don’t have to worry, you berk.”

“Don’t I?” Angel grabbed his wrist, held it tightly enough to hurt. “When you treat me like this?”

Spike scowled, was about to launch into a few well-deserved insults, when something in Angel’s expression stopped him. Something brittle, half-mad. He remembered, then, Lorne’s ominous warning about not making Angel jealous. Instead of pulling back, he stepped forward and set he other hand on Angel’s cheek. “Let me just say this clear, before we start punching each other again: I love you. You’re the only one, and I’m not going to cheat on you. All right?”

Angel’s eyebrows canted, and then his cheek was nudging Spike’s, aligning their heads for a slow kiss. Their bodies molded to each other, fitting so perfectly as always, and Spike explored the familiar feel of Angel’s mouth, his perfect, comforting taste, while their hands moved, no longer at odds, enfolding, holding, pulling fabric.

There was a loud throat-clearing. They broke apart with a somewhat embarrassing smacking sound to find Wesley standing just inside the door. “It grew quiet and I assumed it was safe to come in.” A smirk inched up Wesley’s cheek. “Obviously, the opposite was true.”

Angel coughed. “Uh, you have something for me?” They all heard the unspoken “hand it over and get the hell out.”

Wesley held a file folder out. “Good news. Gunn has uncovered Lindsey’s payroll files. We now know who is paying him, how much, and some of the details of his contract.”  
“Oh,” said Angel. “And this is useful because?”

Wesley pursed his lips. “Angel, Lindsey was returned and placed here by the senior partners. This is a trail that may lead to them, or at least to the mechanisms by which they interfere with our work.”

“Oh, uh… good thinking, Wes.” Angel waved the folder. “I’ll just… put this somewhere safe for later.”

“And I’ll bugger off, then, shall I?”

“Oh, er, thanks.”

Wesley turned on his heel and was out the door in a blink, oddly without having looked like he was in a hurry.

Spike scowled. “’S not like we do nothing else but shag.”

“Baby,” Angel pouted.

“Oh shut it. I’m going. Get some fresh…”

Angel grabbed his arm, swinging him around.

***

Spike left Angel’s office limping, sore, and irritated. Angel seemed to think he was entitled to… everything. And thanks the bizarre situation he’d managed to fall into, he couldn’t even leave the building to go nurse his wounds at home.

Still, he could get away a bit, leave the old pouf to brood.

Harmony gave him a sly, knowing look as he limped past her desk. He slapped the counter. “You’re all heart, Harm.”

She rolled her eyes and went back to her magazine.

He wrapped his arms tight around himself and stalked off as quickly as he could, noting the expressions of people going by. Was that a leer? Was that a smirk? Did everyone think of him as just some… some boy toy? Did they think he liked getting smacked around? Well, okay, he did, now and then, but not every time.

He stomped up the stairs to the lab, eager to see Fred. And it was NOT like he was running to mommy or anything.

Just… Fred gave good hugs.

Three goons in white coats nearly ran him over as he got close to Fred’s office. “Oi!” he shouted, and followed them into the lab. People were running everywhere and stringing up plastic sheets. Someone, unidentifiable behind a plastic hazmat mask, pressed a gloved hand to Spike’s chest. “This is a restricted area.”

“Bugger that, I’m hear to see Fred. Where is she?”

The plastic hood tilted, and Spike felt a sinking feeling. “Ms. Burkle is in the infirmary.”

Dangerous experiments… Spike turned and ran.


	31. The Deeper Well

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter! Depressing, but I managed to put some hot angry Spangel in it so hopefully you won't mind.
> 
> Warning: Canon attacks.

There was something with a sarcophagus and mummy dust. Everyone was investigating. Spike tried to help, but after the fifth time being jostled out of the way or shooed, he just ended up back in the apartment, flipping through a few books no one else had grabbed, looking for information on mummies.

Spike jumped up as soon as Angel came home. “How is Fred?”

“She’s the same. Wes is with her.” Angel went straight into the bathroom and turned on the sink. Soap foamed pink over his hands.

That was when Spike notice the blood, splattered up Angel’s arms and soaking his shirt. He must really have been going out of his mind not to. Now the scent drew his senses like a magnet. Rich, fresh, human.

A little breathlessly, Spike asked, “What have you been doing, mate?”

Angel wadded his hands in a towel. “I just interrogated Lindsey.”

“What? You think he’s behind this?”

“No.” Angel grimaced, throwing the towel in the laundry chute. “But it made me feel better.”

Spike came up behind him. Angel flinched as he touched his arm. “Angel, love, Lindsey’s a bastard, but he’s still human.”

“I don’t care.” Angel’s nostrils flared. “Human or not, I’ll do whatever it takes to save Fred.”

Spike held Angel by his arms, felt the tension in the muscles. “I’m glad; she needs all the help we can give, but don’t loose yourself, either.”

Angel looked at him a moment, and Spike almost flinched at the anger there, but then Angel was kissing him, hands gripping hard enough to bruise, teeth hitting, lips crushing. Spike’s hands pulled fistfuls of Angel’s shirt and he kissed back, both expressing their helplessness, their desperation, in the violence with which they grabbed and held.

And it was good, for as long as it lasted. No words, just as much pain and pleasure as they could inflict on each other. Spike tasted Lindsey’s blood, dry now but lingering on Angel’s forearm as he bit into the muscle, stifling a scream as Angel’s fingers dug into an old wound on his hip. Blood, the rough carpet, the grit between their skins – it was all as it should be. Soon Spike’s cock was grinding into the carpet as he struggled to get up on his knees against the relentless pounding of Angel’s body pressing him down, trying to force him through the floor. He felt fresh, cold wetness on his shins and knew he was scraping skin off, but he didn’t care, he slammed his palms into the floor and pushed back as hard as Angel pushed forward, snarling and growling and nearly bucking him off. Angel’s hold on his hips slipped in sweat, and then there was a smack he hardly felt, and then the electric hot glory of fangs tearing into his neck, right at that spot at the back that sent nerves firing to his fingertips and toes.

Then they lay, spent, not far from where they began. Spike was on his back, looking at the water-like reflections of the windows on the ceiling. Large sections of his body were not happy, but his knees and shins were fine laying open to the air, glistening wetly. Angel was licking the side of his neck with slow, sure strokes.

Both could feel the preoccupation of the moment fading, their worries and concerns coming back.

“Heh. We didn’t even break any furniture, that time,” Spike said.

Angel squeezed him tight, then let go, rolling onto his own back. “I don’t want to go.”

Spike could tell by his tone of voice he wasn’t talking about merely going back down to his office. He raised himself up on one elbow. “What is this, then?”

“There’s a… plan. It might not even work. They’ll be calling up to say the plane is ready any moment now.” He examined his hand, thumb moving over dried blood on the palm. “They said about an hour.”

Spike sat up, scowling. “Did they? Was this before or after your recreational torture with Lindsey?”

Angel turned to match him. “After,” he said. “Why are you so pissy all of a sudden?”

“There’s a plan to save Fred, and we could have missed the phone call, you berk!” Spike got up and found his jeans. “And now I have to ride in an airplane with my shins all carpet-burned.” He looked down at the denim ruefully, shook it out, and stepped into one leg.

“You’re not going.”

Spike turned, still with the pants only half-way up one leg. “The hell I’m not!”

“I am not bringing you across international borders when Nolex could be just waiting for some failed visa or god knows what to grab you.” Angel tugged his shirt back on and left it to hang open while he searched for his pants.

“That’s asinine! I’ll be with you!”

Angel dropped a throw pillow that he’d picked up, looking for his underwear. “This mission is important. Vital. I don’t want to have to be worrying about you, too.”

“I don’t have to take that!”

“Yes, you kind of do.”

They stood off in silence. Spike broke eye contact first. He limped over to a chair and fell into it. He kicked off the dragging jeans. “What is the plan, then?”

Angel narrowed his eyes at Spike for a silent moment before seeming to accept that Spike had given up. “The coffin that infected Fred came from a place in England, the deeper well. I’m taking it back there.”

“So… just a delivery run, then? There and back?”

“That’s the plan.”

“So, it wouldn’t be such a bother to…”

“Spike. You’re staying here. That’s final.” Angel finally found both his pants and underwear and bent over to put them on. As if to emphasize the finality of his decision, the phone rang. “Get that,” Angel said, still wriggling into his slacks.

Spike rolled out of the chair in a desultory fashion and took so long getting to the phone that Angel was finished dressing and behind him when he picked it up. “Pouf’s residence.”

“Blondie bear? This isn’t a good time to chat. I need to tell Angel his plan is ready to go.”

Stung just a little bit more by Harmony of all people considering him frivolous, he handed the phone to Angel. “Plane’s ready,” he said, and dropped onto the bed.

He felt more sore and tired than before. He picked at some loose skin on his knee while Angel said, “I’ll be right there,” and hung up. He bent and kissed Spike on the forehead, or tried to, as Spike moved to look up just as he bent down and he got bonked in the teeth for his effort.

Angel sucked in his breath.

“Sorry,” Spike said. “Look… I could just throw on a pair…”

Angel left without looking back.

Spike lay on the bed, one hand on his stomach, staring at the ceiling. Angel was going to England. Even in a private jet, that was going to take a long time. And he was certain no one would be sending hourly status updates to the boss’s little kept boy.

He didn’t know how long he lay there. He would have slept, if he could, but he was worried. Too anxious to do anything but listen to distant, muffled sounds of people moving about the building underneath him. When he raised his hand from his abdomen, it made a ripping sound like Velcro; the blood and cum dried between his hand and body had dried into glue.

He looked at the bedside table. He sat up, opened the drawer, and picked up the pill bottle. For a long time, he just sat there, reading the label. Then he opened the top and shook out two. He chewed them, and didn’t mind the bitterness. It was appropriate.


	32. The Coward’s Way Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! We find out a bit about why Spike took the pills, and we learn of Fred's fate!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what? For once I will not put "I'm not happy with how this chapter turned out" on the top of this entry. Because I kinda like this chapter. Which may mean it's really, really bad, of course. Since you all seem to like the chapters I hate. :P

Spike didn’t know what he expected – a numbing, perhaps? Maybe he’d just turn into a mindless zombie? Mindless sounded pretty good to him at the moment. He lay on the bed waiting to feel some change, but there was none.

He paced the apartment. He drank cold pig’s blood until the thought of another sip made his stomach churn. He washed and then lay in front of the TV to dry. His eyes glazed, the colorful shapes of uniforms running around a green field blurring into an abstract pattern.

“Don’t just sit there!” An announcer barked. Spike scowled and turned off the television before he could launch into his ad. He stood, stretched, and went back to the bedroom to dress.

Rotten psychiatrist. Hadn’t she said they would make him feel happier?

He stomped into the psychiatrist’s office, and no one stopped him. The elderly secretary merely pressed buttons on her phone and Dr. Malvolio came out, all smiles.

“Spike, it’s a pleasant surprise to see you outside of our appointment time.”

“You gave me sodding sugar pills.”

Her smile only dimmed slightly. “I’m sorry?”

“Well, not sugar, because they taste like shite, but you know what I mean.”

She snapped her fingers and pointed at him like she’d just figured out the answer to a party riddle. “You took the medication.”

“Yeah, and it didn’t do bollocks. You said it would make me happier, and I’m just as miserable as before.”

“You have to keep taking them. The effect will increase the longer you are on the medication.”

Spike raised a fist. “There is no sodding effect to increase.”

The doctor looked a little excited. “No, there is, in fact, you can already feel yourself growing calmer.”

“No I can’t, I…” Spike lowered his arm, his fingers relaxing. He narrowed his eyes at the doctor. “How did you know that?”

“I’m the doctor. You trust me to know these things.”

Spike squinted. “Suppose I do, but…”

“You can’t even remember why you came down here.”

“Stop finishing my bloody sentences!”

Ellen patted his arm. “Of course. You’re doing fine, Spike. You’ll leave here now, and as you go you’ll feel more convinced that the pills are helping you relax, and you won’t forget to take them regularly every morning. You’ll get anxious if you don’t get them on time.”

Spike shook his head. He felt oddly bewildered, which didn’t make sense. What the doctor was saying was clear enough. And he was feeling much calmer. “Whatever, doc. Think I’ll head back to the apartment. Uh… thanks.”

“I’m so glad I could help.” She guided him out the door and left him with another friendly arm-pat.

Well, he supposed he hadn’t given the drugs long enough to take affect. He was a lot calmer now. Relaxed, even – which he hadn’t felt since finding out Fred was in danger.

They wouldn’t let him into the medical ward. No one answered his questions about Fred, but he could see the door to the room she had been in. It was closed.

Walking back the way he’d come he saw Lindsey, sitting on a gurney in the hallway, holding an IV tube between his fingers like a cigarette. His face was livid, looking bright red in contrast to the white bandages crossing it. One eye was covered, and his nose. His hair stuck out of the bandages like straw. He was drumming the fingers of the hand not holding the IV line on his bandaged thigh.

“What are you staring at?” he asked.

“You, moron,” Spike said. “You look like a badly wrapped sausage, of course I’m bloody staring.”

Lindsey snorted – it sounded wet and thick – and he may have tried to sneer, but it was hard to tell. He turned his head, at any rate, as though the other side of the corridor were infinitely more interesting. “It was your fucking boyfriend that did it, so give me some fucking sympathy, will ya?”

Spike felt a pang like touching a wound. “Look, mate – I’m sorry. Angel… he’s a bull in a china shop – only we’re the china shop.”

“Don’t begin to tell me you know how I feel. You’d be healed and out the door already.”

Spike had been about to say he knew how he felt, but he stopped himself. He stepped back. “Don’t know why I’m bothering. You’re the tool who got me in this lovely situation.”

“Because the so-called good guy is a complete dick?” Lindsey’s chin lifted in its familiar, smug way, but the bandages ruined the effect. He fluttered his one exposed eye. There were flecks of blood still in the lashes. Spike felt his stomach rumble. (It was never easy, being a vampire in a hospital.)

“Yeah,” Spike said, and licked his dry lips, choosing to look somewhere other than at Lindsey, with his hot, tasty, clearly available blood. “Yeah he is.”

“Well, forgive me for not getting overly emotional about the sympathy. I’d rather have a way of keeping his mitts off me. It’s not like I have a choice to be here.”

Spike bit his lip, still feeling sorry for the guy but not quite willing to admit it. “I’ll do what I can,” he finally said.

“Excuse me?” Lindsey leaned forward.

“Said I’ll do what I can. Keep the sad old git from tearing into you.” Spike turned to go. “For his sake more than yours. I still don’t like you.”

He thought he heard Lindsey laughing behind him, sad and wheezing. He ignored it. He’d had enough of the clinic.

Harmony was resting her tits on her desk, reading some magazine article and twirling a lock of hair.

“Hey, Harm. Any word on Fred?”

“Wes took her home.” Harmony straightened and put on a serious face. “The doctors said they’d done all they could do for her, and she thought, if it’s the end, like,” Harmony shrugged.

“God, that’s depressing.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Well, all those doctors, all that science, and for what? It really makes you feel helpless. Plus Fred is so young, so full of life. Hell, she could think laps around those pillocks who’ve given up hope on saving her. But what really makes it depressing…”

“Spikey? Please, don’t really tell me about it.”

Spike blinked. “Oh. Right. Sorry. Sodding bored, and I felt like sharing.”

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

He leaned an elbow on her counter and, a touch embarrassed, said, “Not really.”

Harmony held her magazine to her chest. “Go be somewhere else. You’re giving me the creeps.”

He pushed off the desk. “Thanks, Harm. It’s that warmth that I’ll always treasure about you.”

“You may be hot, but bossy signs my paychecks,” she shouted after him as he stepped into the elevator.

Spike spent the remainder of the day in the training room, where he could be alone and work his body to exhaustion. He felt confused and just… odd. He still worried about Fred, but at least he was calm. The one thing he was sure of was he was right to take the pills.

And to think he’d thought they’d turn him into some kind of mindless zombie.

As he was walking back to the executive suite, drenched in sweat and ready for sleep, he was nearly run over by Gunn.

“Sorry, man. Just… Fred’s going to be okay! I just got the call from Wes. Gotta go. Calls to make.” Gunn jumped into the air with a whoop, like he was just a kid. He clapped Spike on the shoulder. “She’s going to be okay!”

Spike jogged after him. “Wait. What happened?”

“Angel’s thing at the deeper well must have worked.” Gunn ran all the way to his office. He fumbled with the lock. “Wes said she screamed, said something was being pulled out of her, she passed out, and woke up feeling… better. Doctors are on the way. I need to call…” He scattered papers on his desk, stared at his phone. “Shit. Who was I supposed to call?”

“Lorne?”

Gunn snapped his fingers. “Right. Lorne, and then Wes again to say the docs are on their way and… well, you I have covered.” He snapped his fingers again and grinned. “She’s going to be okay.”

Spike dropped an arm across Gunn’s shoulders and was enfolded in a sudden, energetic hug. They held tight to each other, laughing, drunk on relief and joy.

Spike left Gunn to his calls, feeling like he could sleep for a month.


	33. The Price

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this fine chapter, a partial look at how Fred was saved. Also, Spike is starting to notice a pattern in his own behavior.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello darlings! Hope the wait wasn't too awful. I should be writing more now that a particular evening obligation has ended, but then, lazy is as lazy does. ;)

Spike awoke with sudden anxiety. Angel’s executive suite lay around him, empty and draped in golden sunlight, menacing in its stillness.

Pills. He scrambled to the side table and shook a few into his palm. As soon as he’d swallowed the pills, he calmed.

It was stupid. Why was he so anxious? All he was doing was saving himself from feeling. He supposed one day in the comforting grip of calm left him unprepared to deal with his normal emotional state.

Even if Fred was going to be all right.

He shook his head, got dressed, and headed for the infirmary. Wes was there, looking like he hadn’t slept in a month, or bathed in two, drinking coffee from a paper cup and nodding at someone in a white coat.

“How is she?” Spike asked.

Wesley looked blearily at him. “Alive. Barely.”

“Barely? What the hell, watcher! I thought she was going to be all right!”

The fellow in the white coat said, “her vitals are stable. The… well, a hell god is what I guess they’re saying it was… took a lot out of her, damaged some tissue before it left. A shaman is with her now.”

Spike scowled. “What does that mean? Is our girl going to be all right or what?”

“It means she needs rest,” said the white-coat with infuriating professional calm.

“Well, when can I see her?”

“Spike,” Wesley stepped between him and the doctor. “She needs her rest.”

“Bloody hell, Wes. I’ve been in the dark and off to the side for days, here. I just want to go see her, yeah? Even if she’s asleep.”

Spike realized he’d raised onto the balls of his feet, and Wesley’s steady stare was not helping him feel less like an impatient child.

Then Wesley patted him on the shoulder. “Why don’t you go make yourself pretty for Angel. He should be arriving soon.”

“Come on, Wes! That’s bollocks!”

But Wes had already turned away, apologizing to the doctor for him.

Sullen, Spike stalked back to the apartment, looking for fights to pick. He didn’t find any.

“Go make yourself pretty!” Spike swung at the air. “Like I’m some stupid bit of…”

“Something wrong, Spikey?” Harmony stopped just before stepping in the path of his fist. She held a coffee mug and a thermos tight to her chest.

Spike grimaced, feeling guilt for some thoughts he’d had about Harmony in the past. “Nah. Just… when’s Angel due back, do you know?”

“Real soon. The plane just landed. His blood will be at the perfect temperature the minute he steps through that door.” She raised the mug. “Not that he’ll notice.”

“You’re a goddess to executive assistance,” Spike said, and dashed past her into the elevator.

He stripped off his shirt and undid his jeans in the elevator, not wanting to waste too much time. Angel was almost home and… well, no he wasn’t getting himself pretty for him, it was… more masculine than that. He just wanted Angel to be happy to see him.

Lord, he really was turning into a girl. Soon as Fred was healthy, he’d ask her to check him for a uterus.

He had just enough time after his shower to wonder if he shouldn’t have dried off more thoroughly, as Angel wasn’t there yet, when the elevator dinged.

Fuck, he didn’t want the wanker thinking he was actually waiting eagerly for him like a puppy! Spike dove for the couch, grabbed the remote and turned it on.

Women’s curling championships. Great. Well, for all Angel knew he was surfing. He started flicking through channels.

Angel dropped his suitcase just inside the door. He walked with a heavy tread to the liquor cabinet.

Spike turned off the TV. “Angel?”

Angel got out a bottle, seemed to stare at it for a bit, and then set it down, got out a glass, all in silence.

“Angel? You’re scaring me, mate. Say something. Fred’s still okay, isn’t she?”

“I’ve done something….” Angel sagged against the liquor cabinet. “What could I do?”

Spike came up behind him and tentatively put a hand on his shoulder. “Come on, now, what could you have done – you of all people – to stir up a brood this big? Can’t have been anything worse than you’ve done in the past, and you know it.”

Angel turned quickly, eyes a little wide, and Spike bit his lip, reflecting in hindsight that it wasn’t the smartest tack to take on comforting the big old git, but instead of a fist to the jaw, he got a soft little something akin to a laugh, and Angel shook his head. “No, I guess not.”

Spike stood close, afraid he’d blow up or fall over, as Angel turned back to preparing his drink. He filled a tumbler, knocked it back, and filled it again before settling into his favorite chair with a sigh and a distracted gaze out the window.

“So come on, then, you’re dying to tell me. Or to shag me. I wouldn’t mind either one.” Spike prodded his leg with one toe.

Angel finally looked directly at him. “How many innocent people would you kill, Spike, if it was the only way to save the life of someone you care about? Ten? One? None?”

Spike took a step back. “That’s an angels-dancing-on-pins type of question; you’ll never know until you’re in that situation.”

“I don’t believe you,” Angel said, tilting his face down just a touch so he looked out the top of his eyes, brows making a straight line over them. “You’d fall on your own sword. Every time.”

Spike winced a little at the accusation in Angel’s eyes. He tried to smile nonchalantly, “I’ve only sacrificed myself to save the world once, and it didn’t take. Don’t think I’ll make a habit of it.”

Angel’s face was tilted all the way down, now, staring into his glass. “To get Illyria out of Fred, people had to die.”

Spike had to admit he knew something like that was coming from the direction Angel was heading. It was oddly relieving to have it stated at last. He knelt down and put his hand on Angel’s knee. “You did what you had to do, to get Fred back.”

“Did I?” Angel looked at Spike’s hand. “They had to drag the god’s soul back to the deeper well. Anyone caught in the path – potentially thousands – was destroyed.” He raised his eyes to catch Spike’s. “Would you do that?”

“I don’t know,” Spike hedged, “Maybe? If…”

Angel’s whiskey glass hit the window as he backhanded Spike. Spike fell back on the carpet, startled, whiskey stinging his eyes. He tightened his fist. “You bloody…”

“Stay down,” Angel warned, standing over him.

Spike’s arm rubbed against the carpet, trying to swing. He wanted nothing more than to punch Angel’s teeth in, but for whatever reason he just couldn’t get himself off the floor. What the hell? He gritted his teeth.

“And don’t lie to me,” Angel said, stepping over him to retrieve another glass from the liquor cabinet. “I know something’s not right with me. I knew what the right thing to do was, but I just didn’t do it. And you know what? I’m glad.” He turned, sipping his drink while Spike propped himself up on one elbow. “I keep trying to think about these faceless thousands I just killed to save Fred, and I can’t get a picture of it in my mind. It just doesn’t seem to matter.”

“Only you would brood about not brooding. Wanker.”

Angel shrugged. He was looking out the window again.

Spike twisted around some more. “What did you do to me?”

Angel blinked, distracted from his reverie. “I didn’t do anything to you.”

“I can’t get up.”

“Don’t be stupid, Spike, of course you can get up.”

“No I…” Spike lurched to a sitting position, frowned thoughtfully, and then got to his feet. “… can’t.”

Angel set down his drink and approached Spike, a hint of a grin finally breaking through the stoney expression he’d had since arriving. “I’m only gone two days, and you’re falling apart?”

“I’m not! I…” Spike exhaled hard. “Look, when I was on the floor, you said ‘stay down’, and even though I wanted to jump to my feet like hell on a holiday, I couldn’t move!”

“You’re imagining things,” Angel said, with half a shrug.

“No I’m…” Spike frowned. “Come to think of it, could have just been in my head. I mean, I didn’t feel anything holding me down. And you’re far too thick to know any magic.”

Angel stepped closer, wrapping him in a comforting embrace.

“Am I going crazy?” Spike asked.

“The only problem with that statement is the ‘going’.”

“Hey!”

“Just kiss me,” Angel said, and so, Spike did.


	34. The Way Things Are

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Darkening Angel, darlings! Dark, very bad Angel. As per.

“Next item on the agenda: I was surveying the morgue reports for unusual activity and came across this.” Wesley passed out papers with colorful graphs, numbers, and a map with dots across it in a straight line. “Thirty-seven deaths in the city last Tuesday, all along this trajectory. No sign of trauma – they simply dropped where they stood. I took the liberty of checking with neighboring counties, and then following the path into…”

Angel cleared his throat, interrupting Wes as he started distributing another map. “It’s taken care of.”

Wesley raised both eyebrows.

Angel swept the papers he could reach together. “We know what caused it and it’s been taken care of, Wes. Next order of business?”

Spike peered over Gunn’s shoulder at his copy of the data. The line of dots, broken by rivers, bodies of water, and areas with bad reporting. They even had one in the middle of the Atlantic – some poor sod on a boat.

Gunn raised an eyebrow at Spike. “You know what this is?”

“Can we please move on?” Angel drowned out Wesley’s muttered protests that if something this big happened he’d like to be informed before we wasted an hour making charts.

Spike shook his head slightly, but he felt sick.

At the bottom of the page, he saw: Confirmed Casualties: 7,238. Estimated Total: 8,160. It was in plain Times New Roman 12-point, like the rest of the paper, but it may as well have been blinking red and five feet tall for how it burned in Spike’s retinas. When he finally tore his eyes away from it, it was to see Angel watching him with narrowed eyes.

When the meeting broke up, Spike started to slink off, but Angel caught his elbow in a hard grip and dragged him, silently, to his office.

Spike waited for the door to close behind them and then jerked free. “What the fuck, Angel?”

Angel faced him with his hands in his pants pockets. “Yes, Spike, that is the question.”

“Oh, very funny. I’m not the one who dragged you into here, and after I bit my sodding tongue off for you in that meeting.”

“You undermine my authority.”

“Excuse me?”

“You practically shouted to everyone that you disagreed with my decision. The way you grimaced at Gunn!”

“I didn’t say anything, and you bloody well know I wanted to.”

They were in each other’s faces, now, jaws and fists clenched. Angel broke away. “Why do you go to our meetings at all?”

Spike watched him circle around his desk, checking the calendar. “Why shouldn’t I? I’m here, stuck in this tar pit of evil with the rest of you. I want to know what’s going on.”

“Well, from now on, don’t.” Angel settled down at his desk, pulling a note pad toward him. He was no longer looking at Spike at all, apparently believing the conversation to be over.

Spike folded his arms. “Oh come on! You can’t stop me from going to your boring meetings.”

“Actually, I can. You’re of no use there, Spike, can’t you see?”

The truth of Angel’s words hit Spike like a hammer blow. His shoulders sagged. “I help some.”

“No, you really don’t.”

“I beat things up for you, don’t I?” It came out sounding more like a plea than Spike would have liked.

Angel walked around the desk back to him and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Of course you can still help out.”

Spike shrugged the hand off. “Don’t do me any favors.” He turned to the door.

“Spike, wait.” Angel caught up with him and put his arms around his middle.

Spike flinched at the contact. “You can’t just treat me like a child like this.”

“Baby, you know all that work stuff just bores you.” He set his chin at the join of Spike’s neck and shoulder and purred, “You should stick with what you’re good at.”

Spike twisted around. “And what’s that? Bending over for you?”

“Well…” Angel looked up, one corner of his mouth raising.

Spike took a step backward. “You bloody bastard.”

“Come on, Spike. Relax. It was just a joke.”

“Yeah, well, I’m getting sick of your ‘jokes’.” Spike stormed out into the lobby. He made it five steps and realized he had no place to go. Back to the gym? The lounge? The building was feeling smaller and smaller.

“Um, Spikey?” Harmony stood behind him, one hand extended like she was thinking about tapping him on the shoulder, but wisely hadn’t carried through with it. “I’m supposed to ‘get’ you and tell you Angel isn’t finished talking to you.” Spike stared at her. She clasped her hands under her chin. “Oh god, this is really awkward.”

“What are you, my nursemaid?”

“I know, right? But could you, like, pretty please just go in there and not be a total selfish jerk boyfriend? Just this once? For me? Because Bossy will be impossible if you don’t.”

“Wait, I’m the selfish jerk?”

Harmony nodded with her signature blithe lack of tact. “Usually, in my experience.”

Spike sighed and looked back at the closed doors to Angel’s office. Perhaps he was being selfish, but he didn’t much care to go back in there.

“So, like… go on.” Harmony made shooing motions.

Spike groaned and stomped his way back to Angel’s office loudly enough to shake the ceramic unicorns on Harmony’s desk.

Fortunately for Angel’s sake, he greeted Spike with the words, “I’m sorry.”

Spike was stunned enough to stand silent while Angel drew him close and continued, “Let’s compromise. You promise to stay out of the meetings, and I’ll make sure you’re updated on everything relevant.”

Spike leaned back in his embrace. “That’s not a compromise.”

“Don’t piss me off now, Spike. I’m trying to help you.”

Spike frowned. “I don’t want to piss you off,” he said, quietly.

“Good.” Angel pulled him even closer and kissed his forehead. “Because I know you’re just aching for attention. That’s the root of all this, isn’t it?”

“No,” Spike said, though it came out unsure. He closed his eyes. His head ached. He let it rest on Angel’s shoulder as Angel rubbed gently against him.

“Sometimes I know you’re lonely and I’m too busy, but if you’re patient I promise I’ll make it worth your while, okay?” Angel rocked his hips against Spike’s.

“I just want…”

“Shh. I told Harmony to hold my calls for an hour.” Angel drew him toward the desk.

Spike squirmed out of his hold. “I’m not in the mood, Angel.”

Angel rolled his eyes. “You’re always in the mood.” He shoved Spike against the edge of the desk, kissing him roughly, one thigh pushing his legs apart as Spike struggled to hold himself up, not to get the damn wooden desk-edge in the small of the back this time. Papers and cups of little supplies scattered.

And his traitorous dick was swelling eagerly in his jeans, responding to every punishing touch. Angel straightened, grabbing Spike’s crotch like he wanted to yank his cock straight through the denim. “See?” he said, smugly. “You’re such a slut.”

Spike lay back on the desk surface, felt the edge of the blotter under his skull, and licked his lips.


	35. The Slut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guess what happens after Angel whispers some filthy suggestions in Spike's oh-so-suggestable ear?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short chapter today!

Bodies sliding against and into each other, friction and need meeting but never enough, the taste of sweat and saliva, cool sheets and hot skin…

Spike woke twisted in the bed sheets and hard as stone. He reached for Angel with one arm and one leg, drawing himself up onto the sleeping vampire, who muttered incomprehensibly and swatted at him.

“Wakey wakey,” Spike purred in Angel’s ear, rubbing his knee gently up and down Angel’s leg, trying to keep himself from out and out humping. The teasing, light touch of the sheets crinkling between them was just enough to drive him mad.

Angel groaned. “Spiiiike…”

“Come on, love, you’ve got hours before you have to be at work.”

Angel raised his bleary head to peer at the alarm clock. “That’s because it’s five in the morning!” He rolled onto this stomach and covered his head with a pillow.

Spike straddled his hips. “Tired? C’mon, I’ll do all the work.” He flexed his hips meaningfully, biting his lip as his cock dragged along the sheet-covered valley of Angel’s ass.

Angel threw the pillow at him. “Go work out or something! Jeez.”

Spike stepped off the bed, exhaled sharply, and tossed the pillow back. “Fine,” he said, and went to look for his jeans.

Fuck, but he was horny. Still, it wasn’t like they hadn’t screwed like weasels on Angel’s desk, followed by an after-work blow job, then drinks and a screw on the sofa followed by a good long fuck before bed.

Spike found his jeans wouldn’t zip shut without difficulty, so he slipped into the bathroom for a shower and a wank.

He didn’t know what had gotten into him; lately, he was just always turned on.

Was it something he ate? Maybe the pills had an aphrodisiac side-affect? He gripped his cock and stepped under the shower’s spray, hardly noticing the temperature of the water next to the pleasure of caressing his own flesh. He felt like he’d been hard for days.

No, it had started yesterday, on the desk. Spike’s cock jumped in his fist as he remembered being slammed down into the hard wood while Angel whispered filthy words in his ear, calling him a slut and a whore, hungry for dick.

It should have made him angry. He _was_ angry. The conceited prick was telling him he as good for only one thing. Again. But somehow the anger was getting short-circuited into lust and Spike didn’t think he could ever come enough. His hand blurred in time to the litany of humiliation in his head: worthless, stupid, filthy, slut.

He pressed his cheek to the cool tiles as his release oozed out over his hand. He was surprised there was anything left in him, and he was so tired.

Spike hurried out of the shower and dressed quickly. His jeans fought him every inch of the way up his wet legs, and he was half-hard again by the time he buttoned them.

Maybe working out was what he needed. Then he’d see the doc. This was one hell of a side-affect, and if she didn’t fix it, soon he’d be humping the furniture.

He reached to flick on the lights in the gym, purely by habit, but they were already on. He blinked in surprise to see his favorite punching bag was in use.

Lindsey had hair in his face, which he ineffectually swiped with one boxing glove between jabs.

“Oi! What are you doing here?” Spike approached, chest out.

Lindsey ignored him, bouncing back and forth on the balls of his feet and jabbing left, left, right at the bag.

Spike grabbed the bag and yanked it back on its chain. Lindsey’s eyes grew wide. He pushed a headset off – it had been hidden by his unruly hair. The tinny sound of microscopic speakers blasting redneck rock tickled Spike’s ears.

“Fuck, you scared me,” Lindsey said, stepping back. He used his teeth to loosen tape on his wrist and started shoving the gloves off.

Spike let go of the punching bag. “I said, ‘what the hell are you doing here?’”

Lindsey spat a piece of athletic tape out. “Physical therapy, asshole. Your boyfriend tore me a new one, remember?” He rubbed his shoulder and rotated his arm. The forearm was still bandaged. The bruises on his face were darkened to a gentle mottling.

Spike punched the bag. “Well, piss off. It’s time for my workout.”

The bag swung back to him and he unloaded into it, pounding and kicking until it danced on its chain. He noticed Lindsey was standing there, his ipod in his hands, staring at him.

Lindsey’s lip curled up. “Oh yeah, you’re definitely ready to ‘work out.’”

Spike held up a finger. “Piss.” He held up a second. “Off.”

“Seriously, how do you kick like that in jeans that tight? I shouldn’t be able to tell you’re uncut from across the room.” Lindsey was openly smiling now, teeth and all.

Spike kicked the bag harder, breathing in short gasps. “Get the hell out, Lindsey. That’s my last warning.”

“No, it’s not.”

The chain snapped and the bag hit the far wall with a heavy thump, but Spike didn’t notice either sound as he planted both fists on either side of a smug Lindsey who was leaning against the wall. Spike felt like he had to choke down something solid and hot before he could speak. “Want to run that by the angry vampire again?”

“I know something you don’t,” Lindsey shrugged. Spike’s panting breath moved his hair against his cheek yet he just looked steadily, calmly at Spike.

“And what is that?”

“You’re not going to hurt me.” Lindsey tilted his head back.

Spike narrowed his eyes. “Seems to me there’s a gray area between killing innocents and a well-deserved smack that my soul has no problem with.”

Lindsey raised one eyebrow, and then lifted his knee so his muscular thigh nudged against Spike’s crotch.

Spike groaned, pressing into the friction eagerly before his mind caught up to his body and he jumped back like he was scalded.

“What did he say?” Lindsey peeled off of the wall. “He called you a slut, didn’t he?”

Spike found himself reaching for his painfully hard dick as he backed up. He made a fist to stop himself. “Is it so fucking obvious, then? Is that what everyone says? I’m a complete whore?”

Lindsey bit his lip, eyes flicking down. He took another step forward. “I’m not supposed to tell you.”

“Tell me what?” Spike tried to stop looking at that plump lower lip. Fuck, he was so horny, and Lindsey was looking at him in this unsure way, walking closer, reaching out.

Spike turned and ran.


	36. The Proof

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter! More stuff happens! It doesn't go well for Spikey. So... the usual.

Spike didn’t run very far, or very hard. His jeans were making it difficult, and he could feel, like a vibration over his skin, every point of recent contact, and god, he NEEDED.

But he wasn’t so stupid he didn’t have one working brain cell reminding him of Lorne’s warning. Not only was he in a relationship, and generally he liked to treat those with some importance, but he was in danger of fucking up the universe if he cheated. Or something. He didn’t have it very clear because right now his brain was bouncing around in a puddle of lust.

So all he did was gasp and try to lean away when Lindsey grabbed his arm. “You want to know why I knew you weren’t going to attack me? It’s because I told you you weren’t. You’re on drugs that make you suggestible.”

“Let me go,” Spike said, weakly and without conviction. His skin tingled where Lindsey’s heat touched it.

“Sure, I’ll let you go. But you aren’t going anywhere. You’re staying to hear me out.” Lindsey stepped back, opening his hand wide and raising it. “You see?”

Spike scowled. “Maybe I’m interested because this is my fucking brain you’re talking about.”

“Hey, no one likes finding it out they’re under control.” Lindsey shrugged. “Believe me, working for this place? I’ve seen it before.”

“I don’t believe you,” Spike said, but he was losing confidence. His head hurt with scowling and trying to second-guess his own thoughts.

Lindsey rolled his eyes. “Fine. Bark like a dog.”

“Fuck tha… woof.” Spike’s eyes widened with horror.

Lindsey held out his hands. “Don’t blame me for this. I could have made you do a lot worse.”

Spike clenched his jaw. “No. I don’t blame _you_.” And he turned on his heel.

Angel was in the shower when Spike returned to the apartment. Spike stomped into the bathroom, yanked the shower door open and reached in, turning the knob all the way to hot.

The glass wall of the shower cracked as Angel slammed into it, jumping out of the scalding spray. He stumbled out, only to be pushed back by Spike.

“You bastard,” Spike said.

Angel twisted the shower knob off before rising to his feet. His skin was flushed and angry-looking. “You have three seconds to explain yourself.”

“How far back does it go, Angel? Your plan to control me, to make me your… your little house boy?”

“Time’s up,” Angel said. His punch threw Spike into the lavish marble counter by the bathroom sink. Spike gripped the edge to propel himself back, but Angel said, “Stay down.”

Spike’s fingers flexed against the marble, almost as white as it was. “You can’t do this to me.”

“Shut up,” Angel added, turning his back to grab a towel.

Spike shook, watching Angel dry himself off and then wrap the towel unhurriedly around his waist.

“You’re really pissing me off, Spike,” Angel said. “I mean, first you’re waking me up early, all whining and needy, then you’re attacking me! You are actually taking drugs to make you obey me, and you still manage to fuck it up. It’s some kind of super power of yours.”

Spike slowly straightened, tightening his fist. “You told me it was medicine, that I had a problem.”

“You knew what they were. You chose this.”

Spike shook his head. He could feel himself believe what Angel said, but he still remembered the horror of realization. But if he knew… did he know? He held onto the counter and watched the shadows moving on the sin as Angel gelled his hair and applied cologne. “You’re making me hate myself,” he said.

“Good. Maybe those drugs are making you sane after all.” Angel walked back into the main area of the apartment.

Spike followed. “I’m leaving. I don’t care about Nolex. He can go ahead and try to catch me. At least he was fucking honest.”

“No, Spike, you aren’t leaving. You can’t leave and you won’t.”

Spike stood still, watching Angel dress. “I want to leave,” he said, at last.

“That’s because you’re an idiot.” Angel shrugged into a shirt and walked back to Spike, buttoning it as he went. “Right now, I don’t want you around, either. Believe me, I’d love to see you gone. I’m not doing this for myself, Spike. I’m putting up with you for your protection.”

“Don’t do this, Angel. Don’t be like this.”

“Like what? You wanted honesty. Now I’m going to my office, to do my job. You are going to stay up here and think about how sorry you are and how you’re going to make it up to me. Now sit down, shut up, and be still until I come back.” Angel shoved Spike so he fell onto the couch.

Spike held his head in his hands. The elevator made its quiet sound of opening and closing and he was alone with his conflicted thoughts. He felt sorry. He planned ways of making it up to Angel. He knew he shouldn’t feel sorry and he hated Angel. He wanted to leave, just to get out of there, but he couldn’t convince himself to stand up.

It was a long time before Angel’s lunch break and by then Spike was all nerves, jumping at the least sound in hope it signaled the end of his long, involuntary sulk. How could torment be so painfully boring?

But at last the sound he heard really was the elevator coming up, and Angel stepped out of the opening doors looking smug. Spike immediately sprang to his feet. “What would Buffy say?”

Angel flinched back. “What?”

“I’ve had a long time to think of what to say here, Angel. I know you’re going to order me to be quiet any second, but damn it, think what Buffy would say about what you’re doing.”

Angel blinked. “Wow, Spike, that’s not only stupid, it’s quite likely the worst thing you could ask.”

“I’ve always trusted her moral judgment, even when I had no moral judgment. You must, too. And your morality is looking a bit weak, lately. Just think, for fuck’s sake.”

“Last time she said, ‘if you fight, can there be oil?’ Go get the oil, Spike. You know where it is.”

Spike’s shoulder moved, but he held still, clenching his fists, breathing hard through his nose.

Angel raised an eyebrow. “Fighting me?”

“I know…” Spike clenched his jaw. “I know what it’s doing. What you’re doing. I just…”

“Give it up, Spike. You aren’t smart enough.”

With a groan of frustration, Spike found himself stomping to the bedside table and getting the bottle of massage oil Angel kept there.

Angel held out his hand expectantly. Spike dropped it into his palm with a sigh. “Do you even know why I’m upset, Liam? Do you even care?”

“No,” Angel glanced upward, smirk in place. “And no.” He put his hand on the back of Spike’s head.

Spike stiffened, watching Angel’s impassive face, trying to figure out what was coming next, and then he was hitting the window. Angel came up behind him, pulling him up by his hair before he recovered the sense to get his feet under him.

“I was going to take it easy on you, you little shit. But you can’t ever have anything easy, can you, Spike?”

Spike twisted around, got one fist raised, but Angel grabbed his wrist. “No. You don’t fight me.”

And he didn’t.

***

As was becoming usual, Spike woke from his dreams with an anxious start and his hand was fumbling for the pill bottle before he knew what he was doing. He stared at it in his hand. He had to stop taking them. That was the only way. He had to stop.

He shook two pills into his palm, popped them into his mouth, and swallowed.


	37. The Request

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter is pretty much rock-bottom for Spike, and so it's more or less 100% straight domination-submission kink.
> 
> Enjoy!

“You don’t talk, Spike, not unless you’re spoken to. No one wants your opinions. And when I want you, you don’t say no. Well,” he grinned slyly, “unless I want you to.” The grin faded as he saw Spike didn’t return it. “Don’t look like that, baby, you know things will be better this way. You hate when we fight as much as I do. Now there’ll be no more fights.”

Spike nodded, because it seemed like a point to nod, and Angel smiled again, bending down to kiss him.

Not talking was hard for Spike, but he got used to it after a few days. He was like a ghost again, wafting around without the ability to affect things, though he could touch and feel and taste now.

Angel wanted him to stay in the apartment, away from the others. He was too suggestible, too much of a slut to be trusted.

“And anyway, Spike, Harmony doesn’t have a soul and we both know she’d have you on your knees in a second. I don’t know anyone who loves using his mouth more than you.”

Angel nipped at the mouth in question, worrying Spike’s lower lip in his teeth while his hands unbuttoned and unzipped. “Come on, baby, why do you need to wear clothes, anyway? No one to see you up here but me, and they get in the way.”

Despite it all, Spike couldn’t stop wanting him. He couldn’t stop himself from responding, arching into every touch.  
“That’s it, you shameless slut. So hungry for it, aren’t you? Can’t wait to be stuffed full of dick.”

Angel didn’t mind him writhing in need, so long as he didn’t try to wake him or distract him from his work. In fact, Angel obviously enjoyed the desperation in his eyes when he came back to the apartment after work. Spike would have a glass of whiskey ready for him and Angel would order him to kneel at his feet while he drank it, watching him, admiring every twitch and half-concealed plaintive sound until at last the drink was done and Angel would lean back in his chair, spreading his legs a little wider, and say, “All right, baby, you can beg.”

He wanted to ask Angel to order him to be happy, to tell him to be content. He was trapped in silence, knowing, and the days were long and unrelenting: waiting, performing, waiting.

It wasn’t going to change on its own. So he took a long shower, mussed his hair, and put on one of Angel’s silk shirts. After a moment’s thought, he put on eyeliner, too.

He stood, waiting by the elevator, the glass of whiskey in one hand, trying to ignore or quiet his anxious erection, the thrumming need inside of him like a fire.

Still excitement coiled in his gut when he heard the elevator moving. The surface of the whiskey rippled with concentric rings. He held it with two hands. He had to stay firm. He had to not let his immediate desires short-circuit his brain again. It wasn’t worth it.

Except sometimes he thought it was. _You’ll do anything, won’t you, baby? Just to be my slut._

The elevator dinged. Spike kept his gaze down. Angel’s shoes stepped over the silvery divide onto the room’s carpet. “Well. What’s this?” Angel lifted the whiskey glass from Spike’s hands and cupped his chin, raising his face. His thumb swiped at a tear. “You want to ask me something, baby?”

“Please,” Spike said, voice straining.

“It’s okay, baby, you can ask me.” Angel’s thumb ran across Spike’s bottom lip, pulling the full flesh a little.

Spike turned into the touch, wanting to take Angel’s thumb into his mouth, but first he said, “Let me go downstairs.”

Angel stepped back, dropped his hand from Spike’s face, and walked to his usual chair. “You know I can’t allow that, Spike. You can’t be trusted.”

“I can,” Spike said, it was barely a whisper. He followed Angel to his chair and sank to his knees in front of it. “You know I’ll do whatever you say, so just order me to be good. I won’t even look at anyone else.”

“You’re sounding whiney. That reminds me why I don’t let you talk.” Angel nudged Spike’s knee with his toe, and Spike obediently widened his stance.

He looked down, feeling flushed with shame. “I could hide under your desk, suck you off nice and slow while you’re on the phone, be your dirty little secret.” He glanced up, licked his lips, and added, “Daddy.”

Angel shifted in his seat, only barely maintaining his calm façade. “Well, I don’t know, William. Perhaps if you ask very, very nicely.” He set his whiskey glass on the table, still half-full.

Spike crawled into Angel’s lap. “Please, Daddy. Just want to be near you, all the time.” It wasn’t a lie. “Get so bored up here by myself.” He reached past his own cock to massage Angel’s underneath him. “Want to feel you. Want to make you feel good. Feel you come all over me, marking me.”

Angel ran his hands up Spike’s thighs, ran them with teasing gentleness over his chest and arms. “And what will you do to pay for that privilege, William?”

Spike knew better than to answer “Anything”. That wasn’t how Angel worked. He liked specifics. “I won’t come for a week.”

“A week? A slutty boy like you? I don’t think you can make it.” Angel’s hands gripped his waist, pulling him down tight against Angel’s still-clothed erection.

“You can put a cage on me. Lock my cock up. Make me only feel release when you want me to.”

“Mm,” Angel said. He let his fingers stray to Spike’s cock, slipping feather-light down the length. “Maybe we should make a bet. If you can make it a week without one, then I’ll _let_ you have the cage.”

Spike whimpered, his whole body rising to chase after Angel’s fingertips. He’d already been ordered not to touch himself. “Please…”

“Oh, baby. Either way, you only get to come when I say you do.” He ran his finger down Spike’s length again, chuckling at the way his whole body shivered in response.

“Yes,” Spike said.

Angel toyed with his cock a little more. “Eyes open and on me, William,” he said, sternly, when Spike squeezed his eyes shut.

He’d been so denied, and so turned on for so long, it was all he could do not to come. He felt like he was dragging a heavy weight up a slippery cliff-face. In the rain. By his teeth. But he held on, fingers digging into his thighs while he helplessly humped against Angel. “Please, Daddy? Please take your little boy to the office?”

“No, I don’t think you’ve promised enough.”

Blood welled in Spike’s mouth as he tried not to cry out in frustration. He didn’t even remember anymore why this was so important. He just… needed. “Please, please fuck me, Angel. Please. I want you to fuck me. Here, there, anywhere. Fuck me in front of your friends. In front of your enemies. I’ll beg for you. Make me beg in front of everyone. Hurt me. Beat me. Just… please.”

Angel pushed him off his lap and punched him when he struggled to get back there, then kicked him in the chest, knocking all the wind out of him and sending him into the far wall. He crawled back, crawled up Angel’s leg and rubbed his face over Angel’s cock, whispering “please, please, please,” and planting little kisses on it.

“Okay, baby, you’ve been good. You can suck me off.”

Spike hated the surge of relief he felt, even as he frantically undid Angel’s flies and swallowed him down like he was starving for it.

His throat was still sore from that morning, and it ripped raw, every point that stretched, taking Angel in, he rammed his head forward until there was no more room to go and set up a punishing pace. His lungs burned with the old ache to breathe, his chest convulsing in its demands, but he needed to get Angel off more.

Angel’s hard shoe pressed into his balls. “You don’t come, baby boy.”

Spike nodded, up and down Angel’s dick, humming his agreement.

Angel’s hand cupped the back of his head, then gripped hard, taking over, pushing and pulling and then finally clasping him tight while his cock spasmed, swelling and falling with release.

Angel held him there a while longer, enjoying the afterglow while Spike tried not to fight against his hold, reminding himself that he didn’t actually need air.

He let Spike go at last. “Good job, baby.” He nudged Spike’s cock again with his shoe. It was still hard and twitched eagerly at the contact. “Make it a week, and I’ll let you join me in my office. Once in a while.”

Spike swallowed, letting the muscles in his jaw relax again. He nodded.

Angel picked him up my his hair, shook him a little. “What do you say, baby?”

“Thank you.”


	38. The Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter, things go slightly better for Spike - really! But don't worry, it won't last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Miss me?
> 
> I was sorta writer's blocky there for a while, but a debauched weekend with my BFF has me eager to get down with the dirty porn again! YAY!

Days stretched into weeks, monotonous and yet punctuated with shame and humiliation. Spike hated every step he took to bribe Angel with affection, to secure more freedom, and as each attempt failed, he got more desperate and ended up lower and lower, as the pills made him take every demeaning thing Angel might say in the throes of passion straight to heart.

And then there were the times when he was lost to pleasure and pain. They did make the time pass easier, but he hated himself for falling into it, for being exactly what Angel said he was.

He despaired of ever getting out of the apartment. The sameness of the walls felt like a blindfold.

Spike was curled up at Angel’s side, sore and tired and still damp from the shower, while Angel flicked through TV channels. They’d already been round the channels once and Angel’s brow was crinkled with annoyance.

Spike shifted to face him. When Angel didn’t respond in any way to his movement, he nudged his arm. Angel swatted him in annoyance. He turned the TV off and stomped to the liquor cabinet.

Spike suspected bothering Angel further at this point was a very bad idea, but still he asked, “Something wrong?”

“I’m bored,” Angel said, slamming down a whiskey bottle. “Bored and confined in this apartment. I need to get out.”

Spike caught his lip in his teeth a second. It was hard to get enough air to talk. “Then let’s go out.”

Angel turned to face him, smirking. “I can’t take you out of here, Spike. You’re… look at you!”

Spike ducked his head. He was naked, of course, and kneeling on the sofa like a child. “I’ll behave myself, Angel. I swear it. You set the rules.”

But Angel was staring out the window. “I’m so lonely,” he said.

Spike trembled with sudden rage. He had to hold it down, hold it in. He was, if nothing else, getting better at that. He slipped off the couch and walked to Angel, trying to move seductively despite the pain. “Come on, love. Let’s have another go. That always cheers you up.”

Angel snatched his wrist as he reached for him, lifting his arm and twisting so Spike had to bend backward and hang from his grip. “No, Spike, you can’t solve everything with your ass.” He grabbed one cheek roughly, fingertips digging into the torn flesh of his crack. “Besides, you’re so stretched out I can hardly feel anything.”

Spike crumbled to the floor as Angel let him go.

“You’re useless.”

Angel’s shadow passed over him. Spike held still. “Go,” he said, when he heard Angel settle on the couch again. “Go visit Fred. Or that werewolf. Just get out of the building for a while.”

He didn’t have to worry if Angel could hear him, but that didn’t mean Angel would listen. He expected to be ignored.

Angel made no sound for a moment, then the sofa creaked as he stood. Another beat and he circled back behind the sofa to where Spike was. Spike peered up at him and saw anger twisted through his features.

Oh. He should have expected that possibility.

“Didn’t mean to tell you what to do,” Spike said hurriedly, raising a protective hand in front of his face and feeling humiliated by the desire to cringe and crawl.

Angel looked up, huffed, and crouched to look him in the eyes, almost on a level with him, but slightly higher. “You idiot. You really don’t know, do you? Fred…” Angel clenched his jaw. “Fred won’t see me.”

The opening was almost palpable, a breeze across his naked flesh. Spike lowered his arm. “Let me talk to her. For you. Make her understand.”

Angel got that boyish look he had when he was uncertain and straightened. “I don’t deserve her to forgive me.”

“Forgiveness isn’t about deserving it.”

Angel looked startled by that, and he nodded, walking off to brood by the windows some more. Spike sighed at the reprieve, and silently counted the time he should wait before making a sound.

***

There were rules, of course. Spike suggested them himself. He wouldn’t talk or even look at Harmony, Wes, or any stranger. (Angel had added Wes to the list, though Spike thought he was imagining things about the watcher.) He wasn’t to talk to anyone, unless Angel indicated he could. He wasn’t to do anything “sexy”. He was to stay within touching distance of Angel, until talking to Fred.

Spike would have put up with a burqa, if it got him out of the apartment.

Clothes felt strange, after all this time. Angel led him into the elevator with a hand on the small of his back. Spike kept his eyes on the floor, almost weak with anxiety. So easily Angel could snatch back this gift, change his mind, leave him to another empty day in an empty room.

When the hot, city-stinking night air hit him, Spike gasped and looked up, despite his plan to keep his eyes down. He shivered with the living feel of the night, a thousand small scents and sounds – cars on the freeway, shrews digging under the manicured lawn.

Angel smiled, a little of the excitement rubbing off on him. His hand moved up and down, petting Spike’s back. “This was a good idea,” he said.

Spike nodded and leaned against Angel, which got him a squeeze around the waist and a kiss on the temple. This was a good idea. “Friends shouldn’t fight,” Spike said. “We’ll get Fred to come home again. You need her.”

“Don’t tell her I need her,” Angel said, leading Spike to the Viper. Spike held his breath, but Angel didn’t tell him not to say anything else. As they slid into their seats, Angel said, “Just convince her to come back to work, to talk to me again. If I can just get a word in edgewise….”

“Yeah. I’ll just coax her out.”

They drove to Fred’s apartment mostly in silence. Spike slipped his hand across to Angel’s lap, but Angel picked it up and put it back on Spike’s thigh. “Slut,” he said, smirking fondly.

Spike rested his head back against the head rest and smiled, too. Four freeway exits to freedom. Unless he somehow fucked this all up.

He chose, for the moment, to pretend he wouldn’t.


	39. The Visit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG! More DA!
> 
> I'm so sorry for being such a slug about writing! Perhaps I am unmotivated by the lack of porn and increased plot in this story.

The chain-lock slid back behind the closed door and the deadbolt turned, and that was all the warning Spike got before he had an armful of Fred squeezing him tight.

Angel cleared his throat and then said, “Hi, Fred,” awkwardly.

Fred tried to yank Spike back through the doorway, only to have him catch on the invisible barrier.

“Oof! Love, you have to invite me in.”

Fred backed off with a scowl. “I would, but those things have a way of being more inclusive than I’d like.”

“Fred, pet, be nice. Peaches has said he’s just going to wait out here while we visit.”

She made a small humph and stepped into the doorway. “Spike, you’re invited in. Angel, you are not!”

Despite his cover story, Spike couldn’t help smiling at the helpless expression on Angel’s face as Fred slammed the door on him.

“You’re really mad,” Spike said, marveling at her.

“Do you have any idea what he did?”

Spike glanced back at the closed door, took her elbow and lead her deeper into the apartment. “He did it for you, love.”

“Thousands died on account of me. Do you think I can stand knowing that? It’s… where are you taking me?”

Spike stopped when he was near the back wall of Fred’s bedroom. He let go of her elbow and leaned against the wall, hugging his arms to himself. “Don’t want him overhearing. I’m supposed to be convincing you to forgive him. It’s the only reason he let me out.”

Fred frowned at him. She looked back toward the front of the apartment, and then back at Spike, and how he was huddled nervously against the wall. Fred walked to the bedroom door, closed it, and then turned to face him. “What did he do?”

“Something’s not right with him. It’s like… the soul’s still there, but he doesn’t care. He’s making all kinds of dodgy decisions. Not just the deeper well thing. But you know, love, that elder god or whatever it was could have destroyed the world if we’d let it out. I can’t feel sorry about that, or about you being alive.”

Fred sat on the edge of her bed. “I don’t know if I can forgive him. It doesn’t feel like it’s my choice.”

“You don’t need to forgive him, not now, but you have to come back to work, Fred, back where you can see what’s going on, where you can make a difference.”

She looked down at her hands fidgeting with the edge of the coverlet. “I know I have to go back; I have a contract.” She smiled ruefully and then shook her head. “I’m just putting it off, I guess. Angel’s been, gah I hate saying this, but he’s been real accomodating with the extended sick leave.”

“I need to get away from him,” Spike said. “I need help. He keeps me locked up, and I never get to see or talk to anyone.” He looked pleadingly at her.

Fred stared at him with dawning horror in her eyes. Frowning resolutely, she stood. “What do you need me to do?”

Spike felt such relief he could barely stand. He kept one hand on the wall as he walked to the edge of the bed and sat down. “He’s got me taking these pills. They make me suggestible. It’s like… what he says becomes my own thought. I’d stop taking them but,” he shuddered at the very idea. He _needed_ to take his pills.

Fred’s cool, firm hand squeezed his forearm. “Can I just order you not to take them?”

Spike’s brow wrinkled. “Not sure.”

“Spike,” Fred said, firm and prim as a schoolteacher, “don’t take any more of those pills. Do you hear me? Don’t you dare take a single one!”

“It… it makes me nervous, pet, when I don’t.”

Fred frowned. “Do you think that’s an addiction response, or the result of suggestion?”

“I’ve no idea.”

“All right, well, just in case: Spike, you won’t get nervous from not taking your pills. I’ll even say it’ll be relieving.”

“What if that doesn’t work?”

“It will.”

Spike wasn’t too sure about that, but Fred put her hands on his and said, “Even if it is an addiction response, you should be able to fight through it, and having positive suggestion will help.”

He nodded. “But what if Angel finds out? He’ll just make me take them again.”

“Angel can’t control you.”

Spike smiled. “That’s easy enough to say.”

Fred was quiet a moment, frowning in that distracted way of hers. She stood and folded her arms. “You’re gonna have to pretend.”

“Fred…”

“Look, I’ll have to look him in the face every staff meeting and pretend I don’t want to rip his head off. We’ll both be pretending.”

“I’m going to have to do a little more than look at him, pet.”

Fred bit her lower lip. “Sorry? I mean, can you think of anything else we can do?” She shook her head and added, sternly, “think of something else we can do.”

“I don’t think it works miracles,” Spike smirked. But he did think. “I could just hide out here? You go to the office, and get Percy and Gunn on the case?”

More lip chewing, and a bit of pacing and frowning. Fred turned to him with one eyebrow raised. “That’s the best you could come up with?”

He shrugged.

“No, it’s too risky. We’ll go with the first plan. No more suggestion pills, act like everything is the way it was, and I will secretly inform Wes and Charles and we will investigate this.” She took Spike’s hand. “Once the guys know, we’ll get you out of there.”

***

Angel straightened from his slouch against the corridor wall as Fred opened her apartment door. Fred held out a hand to stop him from speaking. “I’m not happy with the decisions you made for me in my absence. That’s not going to change. But I do forgive you, Angel. I know you only made the decision you had to. I’ll be back at work on Monday. Just please don’t say anything to change my mind.”

Angel rushed forward, and Fred shrank back. He ducked his head and said, “Thanks, Fred. Uh… thanks. Spike?”

Spike was hanging far back, but Angel’s eyes found him unerringly, holding on him silently until Spike reluctantly stepped forward. “So, guess that’s all we came for, Fred. See you around, yeah?”

“Yep. I’ll see you at work,” Fred said, and her brightness was so false Spike worried Angel would notice, but the big lug was as oblivious as ever and had eyes only for Spike, grabbing his arm and drawing him close.

As soon as Fred closed her door, Angel backed Spike against the corridor wall. “I missed you,” he said, like a threat, his hardness pressing urgently forward.

“I was gone two hours, tops.”

Angel pouted. “I get horny when I’m bored.”

“Now I know this was worthwhile,” Spike said, “Abstinence made the heart grow fonder.” He slipped his hand around Angel’s bulge and squeezed. “Let’s get you home.”

He grimaced as Angel mauled his sore ass with one hand. Let the pretending begin, he thought. Or, really, continue.


	40. The Act

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Giftsmas! Look - an update! 40 chapters? How the heck does that happen? Let it be an object lesson on posting WIPs.
> 
> Warning: Wes is a bit of a dick in this - Wes fans, I apologize.
> 
> Promise: The plotiness will be fading back to more porn soon!

Spike awoke the next morning feeling tired, sore and dirty. It was the way he usually felt coming back to consciousness in Angel’s bed these days. But what he did not feel was that anxious panic, the need to take his pills that pulled him up through the despair and got him vertical.

Angel’s arm moved against his and a sudden fear of exposure did the job. Spike fumbled with the pill bottle, opening it and shaking a few pills into his hand. He stared at them, feeling nothing but disgust at the idea of putting them into his mouth. Disgust and relief. It had worked. He was free.

“Spike?”

He quickly dropped the pills back in and closed the jar. “Just taking my pills,” he said, as calmly as he could manage.

Angel wrapped his arms around Spike from behind and pulled him back down into the crumpled, sex-smelling sheets. “You always get so nervous about your pills,” Angel chuckled fondly.

“Yeah,” Spike said, and thanked his stars he had an excuse to be nervous. He relaxed a little, even, against Angel’s shoulder. But then Angel’s hand was traveling down Spike’s side and he realized, suddenly and terribly, that he was not the least bit turned on. All the effects of Angel’s various suggestions were gone, and Angel would know in seconds as his fingers stretched past the hallow of Spike’s hip.

Spike dove under the covers, taking Angel’s cock in hand. “Feeling randy, sunshine?” He gave the broad head a lick and to his relief Angel stopped pawing at him and fell back, knees widening to grant him easier access. Typical, Spike thought, but he supposed he should be grateful. Angel’s cock tasted of petroleum-based lube, sticky and stale, but he got that cleaned off quickly and then just swallowed him down. He had a brief feeling of disgust and nearly gagged, but practice (and he’d been getting a lot of that) helped him just get on with it. He looked up at Angel, his eyes half-lidded, expression benevolent like some indolent god. Spike wondered when Angel had changed, who this was, really. He’d always been a petty dick, but he used to care, at least with the soul. He’d care about others. The soft hairs on Angel’s thigh tickled against his ear as he writhed. For some reason that was what sparked anger in Spike.

“Ow!” Angel’s hips lifted off the bed and he pulled back the covers. Spike had inadvertently vamped out. He shook his head, getting himself under control and licked the beads of blood from the scrape he’d left along the side of Angel’s cock, gently teasing it back to full hardness. He closed his eyes and pretended to be lost in the sensation. Pretended he liked what he was doing. Hoped that if Angel couldn’t see his eyes, he wouldn’t know what he was thinking.

More and more he was thinking how long it took to get someone off when you honestly weren’t in the mood. His jaw ached and his neck was uncomfortable and the smell bothered him and the sounds Angel made bothered him and he wondered how he had so recently actually enjoyed this. He tried to concentrate on the satiny texture of wet cock in his mouth, the sensual pleasure of gentle friction. It was pure relief when he felt Angel stiffen, his legs straightening, thighs tightening around Spike’s shoulders. Spike took him deep so he wouldn’t have to taste it. He pressed his face into the musty hairs of Angel’s groin and counted slowly to three, lest he be seen to pull away too quickly. Around him, Angel was falling into languor like a snow pile melting.

Spike carefully extracted himself and turned his back to Angel.

Angel put his chin on Spike’s shoulder. “Is something wrong, baby?”

“Nah. Just… got a bit carried away, there.”

“Here, let me take care of you.” Angel’s hand rubbed gently over Spike’s hip, reaching for his groin.

Spike caught it. “Already came, yeah? Now I’m tried.”

He could feel Angel’s grin. “Just from pleasing me, baby? Wow, that’s hot.”

“Don’t get too hot; I’m knackered.” Spike reached behind himself and gave Angel’s semi-hard cock a squeeze. “Give me a mo’ and we’ll get that big bloody barge-pole of yours right where it belongs again.”

It’s the romance that gets me, Spike thought to himself as Angel gave him a big squeeze and a wet kiss over his ear. “Baby, you’re so sweet, but I have to get down to the office.”

Which was why I offered, Spike thought.

Angel gave him a fond pat on the ass and got out of bed. Spike lay still, because that was what was expected of him. He wanted to run to the shower, but he waited, and wondered how long he could keep this up. He could hear the falseness in his own voice – but Angel wasn’t concerned, yet, had no reason to notice. How long would that last?

Angel threw him a kiss as he stepped into the bathroom. Whatever Fred was doing, Spike hoped it was quick.

***

“… and those are pretty much all of Knox’s files and projects? You should probably assign them to someone else? He was, heh, kinda doing a lot. Kinda your number two and all that.”

The skinny young man fidgeted, leaning over her desk as though he wasn’t sure if he should point at a particular folder or not.

“Thanks, um…”

“Eng. I sorta came in under Kathy as a research assistant?”

Fred rubbed her temples. “Thanks, Eng. I’ll get back to you.”

“Um…” Eng scratched his elbow, looking on the cusp of asking another question. Or statement. Everything he said sounded like a question whether it was or not and Fred was seconds from snapping at him that she had only intended to spend five minutes getting caught up on the lab before finding Wes. It had been an hour and she still had four people waiting to see her. Taking a month off and nearly dying, not to mention losing an important staff member because he tried to kill you, really increased work load.

“So, kinda like, the etheric spectrometer? Some guys were in here looking for stuff, I guess because they didn’t know what was happening to you? And they knocked the sample holder into the sensor array?”

“Just… send me an email, Eng. Go. Write it now. I have another meeting and I’m late.”

Fred burst from her office, leaving a confused Eng in her wake, no doubt still formulating a response replete with “kinda” and “ums” Her expression alone was enough to stop the next two lab-coated figures coming at her with clipboards.

Wes was in his office, bent over a dusty old book. “Just a moment,” he said, not looking up, his finger tracing a line of crooked, alien-looking text.

“Okay, but just a moment.”

Wes stood, smiling. “Fred! I didn’t know it was you. You look… well, amazing!”

Fred held out her hands in her lab coat pockets. “This old thing?”

“You look radiant.” He stepped around the desk and held out his arms to her a moment, then dropped them and fidgeted uncertainly. “Are you back at work permanently?”

Fred shook her head and threw her arms around him. “You silly. Oh, I wish I didn’t have serious things to talk about.”

“So don’t,” Wes said, and smiled nervously. “I have time to just talk. This…” he waved at his desk. “It can wait. Not apocalyptic. Not at the moment.”

“Isn’t it sad that’s how we prioritize things around here – apocalypse or not.” Fred sat on the edge of the desk. “We need to talk about Angel and Spike.”

Wes looked slightly puzzled, but he sat in a guest chair and smiled. “What about them?”

“Wes! Angel is abusing Spike.”

“They’re both consenting adults, Fred, and it’s not illegal, what they’re doing. Not in California.” Wes looked in danger of blushing.

Fred rolled her eyes. “We have gay people in Texas, too. That’s not what I meant. I mean Angel has Spike on mind-controlling drugs. He’s using him.”

Wesley shifted uncomfortably, then got up and went back behind his desk. He laid a bookmark in the old tome and closed it.

“Oh my god,” Fred said, watching him. “You knew.”

“It’s not like I entirely approve,” Wes said. “But however unfair the situation may seem, nothing was done without Spike’s consent.”

“Being treated like property? Having his thoughts changed? You really think he consented to that?”

“Technically, yes. It’s all documented. I know it looks awful, Fred, but Angel is much easier to deal with, and happier now. Besides, there was that whole Nolex business, remember.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Well, Spike… I mean, he volunteered for that, remember. Things which you or I would consider intolerable aren’t so bad for him. In fact, if you read up on vampire sexual practices – and I strongly suggest you don’t – you’ll find that what goes on between Spike and Angel is actually, well, rather tame.”

Fred set her fists on the desk in front of Wes. “Spike came to me, begging for help. He was at his wit’s end.”

Wes sat down, hands clasped on the desk. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Sorry? Wes, we have to help him!”

“Angel is in a fragile state, since becoming CEO. I wouldn’t recommend it. Perhaps it’s better that Spike suffer, for the good of us all.”

Fred backed away. “How can you even say that?”

“Fred… please, I’m sorry. I know it’s unpleasant, but if you knew how delicate everything is you’d understand why I don’t wish to pull Spike, forgive the blunt imagery, out from under Angel.”

“I need help to do this, Wesley.”

“And I’m telling you not to do it. Just take a moment, see what’s going on, see the situation for what it is.”

Fred backed out of the office, shaking her head. Wes looked pleadingly at her.

“I’ll send you some files,” he said. “Don’t be angry at me, Fred.”

She turned and stomped down the corridor. Getting Wesley to help had been the lynchpin of all her plans. Who else could get access to the manumission forms and the magical pharmaceutical release forms?

She saw a dark figure in a sharp suit ahead of her. “Charles!” She rushed to catch up to him.

He turned on one heel, a big smile lighting up his face. “Fred!” He set his briefcase down and gave her a hug. “I didn’t expect to see you back so soon!” He held her out at arm’s length. “You’re a breath of fresh air.”

“Can you spare me a few minutes? It’s about Angel. He…”

“God, I wish could, but I’m on my way to court.” He kissed her forehead and then picked up his briefcase. “See my assistant – he has my schedule. We’ll do lunch!” This last was shouted over his shoulder as he waved.

Fred sighed, feeling defeated and confused, she went back to her office to tackle the paperwork and email Gunn’s assistant.

She had been so sure the boys would be willing and able to help. She hadn’t counted on going alone, or even having them work against her. What had happened to everyone? Had she been this preoccupied, this buried in inconsequence, before she nearly died from it?

She pushed open the door to her lab and all around the large room faces popped up from behind equipment and goggles, looking at her expectantly. Fred felt heavy all of a sudden – heavy and tired. She trudged to her office, prepared to lose the battle to preoccupation, for a while at least. She just hoped Spike wasn’t suffering in the meantime.


	41. The Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello darlings! Back from my vacation and I come bearing an update! *mwah*

Spike awoke groggy, sore, and irate. He held still, though, pretending to still be asleep as Angel kissed him and cuddled and finally got out of bed.

It was already feeling like an eternity since he’d taken the pills. His only hope of getting through this any longer was just to be unconscious.

Angel stood by his dresser, frowning down at his chest and alternately holding ties against himself. “Spike? Get my grey shirt. The silk.” He casually waved toward the closet.

Spike blinked in confusion and only in the bare nick of time clamped down on his sarcastic response to such a request. Fortunately, Angel’s back was turned as Spike ground his teeth and gestured his frustration a bit, just to get it out so he didn’t stomp all the way to the closet.

Did he really put up with this? Spike felt like he was returning to his body after a vacation to find the sub-letting tenant had left the water running and let it all go to pot.

With an utmost effort of will, he fetched Angel’s grey silk shirt and brought it to him. “This one?”

“Thanks,” Angel smiled at him and started holding ties up against the grey silk. “What do you think? Burgundy on grey?”

_Do I look like a pouf?_ Spike cleared his throat, frowned seriously, and said, “Yeah. Lighter color brings out your eyes.”

“Really? Thanks!” Angel looked genuinely pleased as he shrugged out of his black shirt and slipped the grey on.

_I deserve a flipping Oscar for not slapping him,_ Spike thought. The very peevishness cheered him. “So, love, I was wondering if I could go visit Fred today? Seeing as how she’s back and all. I could make sure she’s settled, put in another good word for you?”

Angel glanced up from looping his tie around his neck. “No, Spike, she’ll be busy, doing delicate, complex stuff you don’t want to interrupt.”

_Grown up things, you mean? Insufferable prat._ “I won’t be any bother. Know how to hang back, don’t I?”

Angel finished tying the tie and left it loose to turn and put his hands on Spike’s shoulder’s. “Baby, you got such a big outing yesterday, you should stay in and relax. You’re tired.”  
  
Spike opened his mouth to protest, and saw, fuck, he saw Angel’s calculated look, waiting for the suggestion to take hold. He slumped. “Yeah, think I could use some rest, now that you mention it.”

Angel gave him a wet, condescending kiss on the cheek. Spike clenched his fists, but had to force them to open and relax as Angel’s hands passed lightly down his arms to give him a little hand-squeeze before turning back to adjusting his tie.

Spike crawled back under the covers, hiding his face until Angel was gone and silently praying that Fred got things sorted before he snapped.

***

“Lorne!” Fred slipped sideways through the closing elevator doors.

“Well, hi, darling!” Lorne picked Fred up in an enthusiastic hug, his cell phone pressed into her back, his horns catching a few strands of her hair as he set her down. “It’s so good to have you back with us. Just between us, I was petrified for a while there. There’s nothing worse than being a seer and not knowing the future when someone you love is involved.”

“Oh, you big softy.” Fred ran her thumb across his bright green cheek. “Got a few minutes in your schedule?”

Lorne held his phone high, making a dramatic show of holding down the “power off” button. “For you, sugerlump? I have all day.”

“Great. It’s about Spike.”

Lorne’s smile faded. He looked at the elevator doors and the awkward silence lasted long enough for them to open. Fred stepped in front of him, frowning at him in concern.

Lorne sighed. “I can’t help with Spike,” he said, and gently stepped around her.

“Then you know what I’m going to ask,” Fred said. “Or you’re guessing.”

She watched the shiny maroon fabric of his jacket bunch between his shoulder blades, but he kept walking, head down.

When he reached the door to his office, he said, quietly, “I don’t want it to be this way.”

“So do something about it!”

He gave her a despairing look and opened the door. He crossed straight to the mini bar. “I had a vision, Freddles. A very clear one. Technicolor. And when I say it was bad, I don’t mean the choreography.”

Fred crossed her arms over her chest. “So, what, we choose between saving Spike and something worse? Lorne, this isn’t right! It’s not good for Angel, either. It’s doing something to him, I can tell. The man who saved me from Pylea would never have murdered thousands for one person.”

Lorne sank into a round, comfy-looking chair. He looked up, eyes gleaming. “Oh, Fred. We all would have done the same thing.”

“Would you have?” Fred studied his face. He dropped his gaze and drained half his glass. He visibly relaxed with the drink and looked at it like a trusted friend. Fred was starting to worry about Lorne. “How accurate are these visions? I mean, do they always come true?”

“Oh yes.” His eyelashes flicked up and down, a quick glance like the brush of a broom. He took another, smaller sip of his drink. “It wouldn’t be any fun, otherwise, would it?”

“Well, you might not be willing to chance it, but I have to. It isn’t right, no matter what, to leave Spike in the hands…” she flailed, hating how she had to phrase things, not wanting to make Angel the bad guy, still. “Subjugated like that.”

“Don’t.” Lorne set his empty drink down and straightened. “Please, Fred. I’m begging you. Spike has to stay with Angel. He’s the sacrifice for the greater good. You were willing to die to save a thousand strangers, weren’t you? Is this any different?”

Fred frowned. It _was_ different. It had to be, but she couldn’t quite formulate her argument. “Wait a sec. Your visions are supposed to be tied to the destiny of the person singing, aren’t they?”

“That doesn’t make them conditional.”

Fred sat down across from him, feeling a little excited. “No, but if it’s tied to an individual destiny, some other factor can also change that destiny. That person is the focus around which these vertices of fate rotate. Move the focus, move the vertices.”

Lorne squinted. “Sugar blossom, it’s magic, not science. Anyway, you’re making my head hurt.”

“Well, just tell me whose destiny it was!”

Lorne sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Years ago, a young lawyer came into Caritas with a beautiful tenor and an unquiet conscience. He’s in the holding cells, here, now, and I wish I’d resisted the urge to hear him sing again. His name’s Lindsey McDonald.”

***

Spike showered, threw the sheets down the laundry chute, drank some blood, and watched about ninety seconds of television, divided evenly amongst all the channels he could surf through.

It wasn’t even ten o’clock and he was going barmy. He couldn’t fill two hours until Angel came for lunch, and he didn’t want to.

Fortunately, he didn’t actually have any magical compulsion holding him there, just the fear of getting caught, and that was becoming a flimsier bond every passing second.

“Fuck it,” he said, grabbing his coat and heading for the elevator doors.


	42. The Answer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't resist this chapter title, geek that I am!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lo! She updates again! It's becoming a regular thing! Kiss Kiss!

Spike had already hit the call button on the elevators when he realized that barging out into Angel’s office might not be the most sensible thing he’d ever done, what with Angel most likely being right there to see him do it.

Angel might already be wondering why his private elevator was moving.

“Idiot,” Spike hissed at the closed elevator doors and sprinted to the back of the apartment, where there was a door Angel never went through, built flush with the poncy wood-grain accent wall. He had no idea where it led, but he was pretty sure the cleaning staff didn’t walk straight through the CEO’s fortress-of-solitude-style office.

It took a little experimenting to find the little lifting plate that concealed the door handle, but soon the door opened to reveal a stairwell, all industrial white and non-skid textured metal. His hands shook and his knees felt jittery as he ran down the service stairs, grabbing the railing and jumping over each landing.

He was running like he was being chased, and that was silly. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs and adjusted the lay of his coat. “Come on, Spike, the ambush is more likely down here,” he told himself, and grimaced, because that wasn’t exactly a reassuring thought.

Squaring his shoulders, he pushed through the door at the base of the stairs.

Two portly Hispanic women stared at him from over a row of washing machines.

He held up a hand and smiled. “Just cutting through. Ta.”

The key to getting through most any restricted area was to walk like you knew where you were going and belonged there.

Of course, as soon as he exited the laundry room, he started running again.

***

Lindsey. Fred knew he was a member of Wolfram and Hart’s original staff, brought back from somewhere… she had never had a reason to meat him and had only heard him mentioned once or twice. Usually Angel saying, “Hey Wes, remember when Lindsey…?”

Usually something about the look on his face when something bad happened to him. It was guy-talk of the sort Angel rarely indulged in, but somehow Wesley could coax out of him after a few beers.

Wesley.

There was no time to worry about Wesley right now. She smiled in a dutiful way to the guard opening the holding cell, clutching her clipboard to her chest.

A sleepy, bedraggled man stepped out of the cell, looking a lot like the boys she used to hang out with at the back of high school assemblies, wearing jeans and leather and feeling smugly above it all. (And half-stoned.)

Maybe it was just the bleary eyes. “Yeah?” Lindsey asked.

Another guard stepped forward with hand-cuffs. The one who opened the door said, “Johnson will accompany you to keep the prisoner secure.”

“I’m sure that won’t be necessary.”

Lindsey frowned. “Where’m I going?”

“The doc here needs new guinea pigs,” the handcuffing officer joked from behind Lindsey’s back.

“That’s really not…” Fred sighed. “I don’t need a guard, and it’s not going to be that bad.” She took hold of Lindsey’s arm, which was thick and strong under the flannel of his shirt. “I’ll have him back before noon and all in one piece to boot.”

Fred tugged Lindsey along with her, hoping a brisk pace and looking like she knew what she was doing would keep the guards at bay.

“If you’re trying to bust me out, darlin’, the stairs are the other way.”

She tightened her hold. “You don’t want to antagonize me, mister. You’re the reason a friend of mine is in deep trouble.”

Lindsey twisted out of her grip. “Damn it, how many times do I gotta tell you people I’m just doing my job?”

Fred put her fists on her hips. “Then why were you in a holding cell?”

Lindsey snorted. “Angel was being a dick. Had security pull me right out of my office without even the decency of an excuse. I’m guessing he found a brown hair floating in his blood or something.”

“Angel doesn’t throw his employees in prison for no reason.”

Lindsey squared up on Fred, matching her challenging posture despite his hands being locked behind him. “You mean he didn’t used to. Because lately? Angel’s really taking that ‘power corrupts’ model to heart.”

“Oh!” Fred pushed Lindsey the rest of the way into her lab. He chuckled at being manhandled by her. As soon as she had the door closed behind him, she poked him in the chest. “You have a lot of nerve saying that, when you’re the reason he’s acting like that.”

For a second Lindsey looked caught-out and guilty, but then he scoffed. “All I’ve done is try to help. Oh, and my job. Look where that got me.”

Fred narrowed her eyes. “Bull. It was _your_ destiny that got Lorne onboard the let-Angel-be-corrupted train.”

“What, you think I can fake a destiny? You think anyone can fake that?”

“I think magic is known for breaking rules so don’t you give me that. Tell me what you did.”

“I told you.”

Lindsey stubbornly matched her glare until she gave up and started pacing. She noticed him relaxing away from the wall and only then realized she’d intimidated him right up against it. She smiled a little at that thought. “Someone or something is going to an awful lot of trouble to keep Spike and Angel together.”

Lindsey shrugged. “Well, have you seen them?”

“Quite a bit,” said a familiar baritone from the back of the room.

Fred and Lindsey both broke from their staring contest to watch in shock as Spike hopped up on one of the lab tables. “Hard on the case, dear Fred?”

“You shouldn’t be here!” Fred rushed to him, lowering her voice. “What if Angel finds out?”

Lindsey just smirked, leaning against the wall. His back was arched to accommodate his bound hands, and that somehow made him look even more smug.

Spike pouted. “I couldn’t just sit there, Fred.” He slipped off the table and sauntered around her, shoulders back and chin down. “But I suspect you could use some of my services. I’m really good at threatening berks.” Stopping just inside Lindsey’s personal space, he purred, “Hello, Lindsey.”

Lindsey’s smug expression was gone. “I don’t know anything.”

“Fred thinks you do, and she’s pretty smart about these things. How about I start nipping the less important parts off your body?” Spike dropped his hand to Lindsey’s crotch and gave a demonstrative squeeze.

Lindsey snorted. “I don’t care if I die.”

“Who said anything about killing?”

“Spike, I don’t think this is the way to get him to talk.” Fred tugged on his sleeve to get him to step back. He didn’t.

Lindsey gave a humorless laugh. “Hundcuffs, that threatening growl – it is the way to turn me on.” He rubbed his thigh between Spike’s.

Spike shoved him hard into the wall. “Who is controlling Angel?”

“No one. Don’t you get it? That’s the whole fucking point.”

Spike lifted Lindsey by two fistfuls of his flannel shirt. “Whose orders are you following?”

“Who do you think?”

Spike punched Lindsey in the face. Lindsey laughed, so Spike threw him on the ground.

“Spike!” Fred jumped between them.

Lindsey spat blood, sprawled on the floor. He pushed himself to sitting with a contemptuous look. “And I felt guilty about you! Thanks for making it easier.”

Spike curled his fist, but Fred stopped him with a gentle touch. He sighed and stepped back. “You’re right, love. Beating just makes him happy.”

“I bet that’s what Angel says about you,” Lindsey replied, and almost got another fist in the face, if Fred hand’t been there.

Her hands still on Spike’s biceps, Fred half-turned to Lindsey. “You wanted to take down the senior partners, and now you’re doing their dirty work. I’m sure you want out of that as much as we want Angel out of his downward slide. We ought to work together.”

She felt Spike’s muscles relax under her hands.

Lindsey scooted back until he was resting against a lab bench. “It’s no big secret, what I know: the Senior Partners want Angel on the side of dark, with his soul intact, to fulfill some bullshit prophecy.”

Fred turned to face him fully, only one hand against Spike to keep him calm. “And Lorne’s vision?”

Lindsey shrugged. “They planted that on me, to keep him in line. It wasn’t exactly my idea,” he added hastily as Spike took a step forward. “Why don’t you chain up that Nolex guy? He’s on the same project. You think they didn’t set that up, too? They set up these decisions, these little temptations, and juice the tracks with little bits of pheromones and chemicals or whatever that shit Nolex makes is. Just nudging old Angel along toward the dark side.”

Jaw clenched, Spike turned away, choosing to glare his anger into an innocent bench-top.

Fred crouched down. “You have to tell Angel. Tell him he’s being manipulated and he’ll break free. He’ll fight them all.”

“I doubt it. I think he likes things the way they are.”

“You don’t know him like we do,” Fred insisted. Spike made a loud snort.

Lindsey looked pleadingly at her. “See it from my point of view, darlin’; I’ve got the senior partners holding me on a short leash, and Angel’s attached another one. Either side will gladly rip me in half rather than hear what I’ve got to say.”

A shadow fell over his face. It was Spike. In the silence that followed, he crouched down next to Fred. “I’ll tell him,” he said. “Worst Angel can do to me, he’s already done.”

Fred bit her lip. “What if it doesn’t work? I mean… what if Angel…” she stopped, helpless to describe the many different ways Angel could fail to cooperate.

Lindsey lifted himself up from his slouch. “We’re fucked if we do, and fucked if we don’t. Sound familiar?” He smiled ruefully.

“Maybe…” Fred frowned, looking from one face to another. They were now all three quite close, conspiring on the floor like truants. “Maybe Nolex is who we need to talk to.”

“Fred!” Spike shook his head.

“No, listen! He’s a mercenary in this, and probably has the least to lose. If we can get him to stop helping, at the least.”

“Don’t offer me to him, please, Fred, I couldn’t bear it again.”

“I would never do such a thing!”

Lindsey shook his head. “We might need to. But it could be a fake. Bait and switch.”

“How would we make that work?” Fred asked, ignoring Spike’s muttered protests.

“There’s a spell the sales department…”

The door to the lab opened. Like kids trespassing in their high school after hours, all three ducked and held their breath.

Angel’s voice was loud and clear, unafraid, “Fred, have you seen Spike?” His tread heavy and loud, he approached. “I can hear your heart; I know you’re here. Spike’s not…”

And then he was there, looking right at them. Spike’s hand on Fred’s knee squeezed painfully, and Lindsey made a gasp as Spike’s other hand dug just as hard into his shoulder.

Angel tucked his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “Spike’s not in the apartment,” he said.


	43. The Capture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, Angel listens to everyone thoughtfully and respectfully and has an epiphany.
> 
> HA HA HA - kidding! It's full of abuse and nastiness! *mwah*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello darlings! Let's heat things up with more Darkening Angel!

Fred was the first on her feet. “There’s a conspiracy against you, Angel. We’ve uncovered evidence that…”

“We?” Angel’s voice was dangerously quiet, silencing her more effectively than a shout. “Are you really this angry with me Fred? Angry at me for saving your life?”

Fred raised her shoulders. “I’m not doing this because I’m angry. I’m finding out what’s wrong with you because I’m your friend!”

Still quiet, Angel said, “Spike, come here.”

Spike was half-crouched, caught indecisively between standing and sitting. He looked at Fred, then Lindsey, then back at Angel. “Fuck,” he whispered, and slowly got to his feet. As he walked to Angel, hands out, he said, “Listen, Angel. Know you’re pissed, but Fred knows what she’s talking about. She’s not your enemy.”

Angel struck suddenly, smacking Spike across the cheek and then grabbing him with one hand at the join of his shoulder and neck. “What’s that, Spike? Going to dole out some affection to calm me down? Was that your plan?”

Spike’s teeth ground audibly as he clenched his fists and glared at Fred, clearly hoping for a signal that the charade was at an end.

Angel shook him. “Don’t worry, Spike. You couldn’t have left the apartment without someone taking you from it. Just like Lindsey and his cell.”

Spike turned into Angel’s grip, grabbing his arm. “Don’t hurt her.”

"Why would I do that, Spike?" Angel's cheek trembled with rage, just a touch, just so much Spike could see from his vantage centimeters away. "I'm the good guy, remember? The nice guy."

Fred tugged on Lindsey’s arm, trying to get him to stand. “Don't just sit there! Tell Angel what you said to me.”

“Sure, I’m feeling especially suicidal today,” Lindsey muttered and got to his feet with Fred’s help.

Spike cried out, more shock than pain, as Angel stabbed him. The stake hit him just to the right and below the heart, but he wasn’t sure that was on purpose. Angel had a hard grip on his wrists, squeezing bones against each other.

“No,” Angel said, sounding as calm as ever. “Write me a report, Fred. I’m not in a mood to talk to you right now. Mostly, at the moment,” he turned, picking Spike up by his throat. “I’m curious how long you’ve been lying to me.”

Spike’s eyes widened, then he swallowed against the pressure in his throat and lashed out, fists and feet. If Angel’s suspicions had prepared him for that, his expression certainly showed he hadn’t expected it.

Then Spike’s head was hitting the stone-topped lab bench and his vision flashed white.

He twisted against the body holding him – and what a surprise, Angel was hard and grinding into Spike’s hip despite – or because – of the fight. He slammed his heel into the bulge and used the momentary release to turn and put his hands around Angel’s neck.

Somewhere out of the corner of his eye, Lindsey was a blur of grey flannel trying to hide itself, handcuffs gleaming in the fluorescent light. Spike’s ears roared with blood and his muscles strained against Angel’s. Vaguely in the distance, as though on a television, he heard Fred calling for security.

“Oh Fred,” he thought, mourning her innocence and slackening his hold for a crucial second.

It was all over very fast. A wooden club hit Spike on the back of the head, and then another (or the same one) slammed into his throat, pulling him back, down against the bench. He struggled to hold onto Angel, his fingernails dug in for a final grasp, but then they slid free, and he was bent backwards against a stone countertop, some metal nozzle pressing into his shoulder blade while two demon rent-a-cops held him down.

Angel ran a thumb over the crescent-shaped wounds on his throat and licked the stray blood before straightening his collar. “Secure them both and take them to my suite. Fred, that had better be one amazing report.”

The rent-a-cops let Spike up – or more like decided to straighten him out to cuff him and let him do the work. He managed to push one of them back, but there were two more to take his place.

Fred’s glasses were skewed, her hair and lab-coat rumpled, and she stared in helpless shock.

The stake-wound hurt like hell and weakened him as he struggled, but Spike still made the rent-a-cops earn every cent of their pay check getting him back to Angel’s suite.

When they finally dropped him on that familiar grey carpet, he was too exhausted to do anything more than fall over.

“Idiot,” Lindsey muttered. He sat on the floor by Angel’s couch, one leg propped up. His shirt was torn and a bruise was deepening on his chin, but he looked to have come out of the fight relatively unscathed.

“Why,” Spike gasped as he turned to face the lawyer, the hole in his chest very much felt as he tried to breathe, “the hell did he want YOU here?”

Lindsey rolled his eyes. “Tell me about it.” He huffed and shifted his weight, face scrunched in annoyance at the uncomfortable press of his bound arms. “I’m sick of getting punished for doing my god-damned job. It’s not like I even have any choice about it.”

“There’s always a choice.” Spike let his head drop to rest against the carpet, eyes staring without focus.

“Funny how you made that rhyme with ‘we’re fucked’. So how long has it been?”

Spike refocused and twisted his neck just enough to give Lindsey an annoyed look.

Lindsey clarified, “Since you stopped taking the pills.”

Spike sighed, and groaned at the pain that caused. “Just a day. One fucking day with my mind my own.” Remembering that Lindsey had known about the pills from the beginning, he scowled and added, “You dick.”

“For what it’s worth, I didn’t want any of this. You think I want Angel comfy and pampered? I was trying to redeem myself and that asshole threw it in my face, like a few years lawyering made me less worthy of redemption than him. Yeah, I defended some evil bastards – but that was their constitutional right. Angel fuckin’ killed people.”

“He’s a petty bastard,” Spike lifted one shoulder. “Still doesn’t mean I like you. ‘Doyle’.”

“Yeah, fuck you, too.” Lindsey said it like a benediction, eyes closing and head resting back. The peace didn’t last, though. His eyes cracked open again almost immediately and he said, “But he is going to beat the fucking shit out of me for no good reason, you do know that?”

“Not my fault,” Spike said, no longer having the energy to lift himself and look back.

“Yeah, it kinda is.”

“Pillock.”

“Bitch.”

Another brief silence, but Lindsey just didn’t seem to be able to keep quiet. “You have to admit, I gave you somethin’. It didn’t hurt, did it, to have a chance to be the champion, to be the special one. Instead of him. And that’s how I really wanted it to be. I wanted you to win. Not for your sake, I admit that – to spite him. But I gave you a dream for a while, didn’t I?”

Spike squashed his guilt down. “Go to hell, cowboy.”

Lindsey snorted. “Already there.”

The elevator started to move and they both fell silent. Lindsey stopped breathing.

I’m not supposed to be afraid of him, Spike thought. I shouldn’t be! I’m the fucking slayer of slayers, he’s nothing but…

The elevator dinged and the human’s heartbeat faltered. Spike felt a reciprocal tightening in his chest.

It was silent enough that Angel’s footsteps were loud and clear against the carpet, as was the gentle sound of him shuffling some papers in his hands.

Angel’s glance passed over Spike without stopping. “Hello, Lindsey. Comfortable?”

“Been worse,” Lindsey replied, laying his head back, baring his throat, long and open. Spike looked away. Didn’t the idiot know what that kind of body language did to vampires?

Angel’s shadow passed over Spike. Pain stabbed through his chest as he clenched his fists and breathed – both futile acts, but he was damned if he’d let pain stop him.

“I know you didn’t have prior contact with Fred,” Angel said, flipping his papers. “And I know she authorized taking you from your cell. There’s nothing I can find to blame you for any of this.”

“I could have told…”

Lindsey’s air rushed out of him as Angel slammed him against the windows. “But I don’t need a reason.”

Spike pushed himself up on his elbows. “For fuck’s sake, Angel!” Spike’s ankles were shackled close together, and thwarted his attempt to stand He hung onto the nearest piece of furniture. “This is exactly what Fred was talking about. Can you even see yourself anymore?”

Angel dropped Lindsey unceremoniously and turned to Spike. “Why, Spike? Because for the first time in a hundred years, I’m allowed a little something for myself?”

“Don’t kid yourself.” Spike got to his feet, though he had to lean his knee into the ottoman beside him for balance. “You’ve had nothing but compensation. Virginal slayers and eager, bloody brilliant team-mates to take for granted. You’re off the deep end, mate. Don’t stand there, looking at me, bound and battered, and talk about what a sodding martyr you are!”

Angel’s expression was unreadable. Spike was somewhat surprised he’d been able to speak his mind without interruption. He sighed and looked away. “Just listen to Fred, will you? Don’t expect you to listen to me; I’m not that naïve.”

Angel approached. Spike flinched back and nearly fell, but Angel caught him and cupped his chin. “We had something special,” Angel said. “We were so good together.”

“YOU were good. I was drugged.”

No sooner were the words out, than Angel tightened his grip to a choke-hold. “I was so good to you. You didn’t have to worry about anything. But you don’t want that? Fine. You’re right, Spike. We aren’t a couple. You’re my compensation.”

Angel pushed, and Spike fell over the ottoman, elbows jerking out as he tried to catch himself and the handcuffs dug in.

Angel just watched, and when Spike looked up, he said, “From now on, you mean about as much to me as my TV, or the Viper. You’re just a pretty piece of executive property.”

“That’s a relief – you take care of the Viper.”

The punch was expected, and Spike laughed a little through the pain as he and the ottoman skidded and tumbled over.

“Hey, what about me?” Lindsey asked. “Are we done here? Because I’d like to get back to doing my job. For YOU, by the way.”

Spike peered up through his own disordered hair. Was the pillock really that self-destructive? Lindsey was sprawled on the sofa, as causally as a man with his hands cuffed behind his back and bruises on his face could be.

Angel set his foot hard on Spike’s back and turned to Lindsey, grinding the flat ball of the shoe into Spike’s shoulder. “Oh, we’re far from done.”

With an extra dig and press, Angel pushed off Spike’s shoulder and stalked toward Lindsey. He straddled the smaller man, his elbows sinking into the sofa cushions on either side of his head. “You’ve gone to a lot of trouble to get my attention, Lindsey.” His hips flexed meaningfully. “What are you going to do with it?”

“Fuck,” Lindsey breathed, hot and wet. “You sure blow hot and cold.”

Spike could hear the friction of their groins rubbing together, wool slacks on denim, hard cock against hard cock.

“I know you’ve always wanted me, Lindsey. All that acting out?” He gave Spike a wink over his shoulder and returned to breathing into Lindsey’s ear. “Turns out, I’m single again.”

“I don’t bloody believe this.” Spike laughed. “Are you trying to make me jealous? I wouldn’t fuck you if you were the last creature on the planet. I’d rather date bacteria.”

Angel made a convincing show of ignoring Spike, whispering thickly into Lindsey’s ear as he humped against the lawyer until Lindsey arched all the way off the couch, gasped, “Aw fuck!” and the scent of hot, fresh semen filled the air.

Angel peeled back slowly, a smug smile on his face. Walking to Spike, he picked him up by the arm, dragged him toward the couch, and then dropped him in Lindsey’s lap. “Clean that up. I’m taking a shower.”

Spike’s cheek was plastered to none-too-fresh denim, already cooling and sticky. Lindsey shifted uncomfortably under him. They stayed still, however, from some mutual, silent pact, until the bathroom door closed behind Angel. Then Spike threw himself off to the side and they lay staring at the ceiling beside each other.

Lindsey breathed heavily a few times. “What… what do you suppose he’ll…”

“Best not think about it,” Spike said. “But just so we’re clear, I am through doing anything Angel tells me to.”

Lindsey’s thigh lifted and re-settled. “Too bad, because this is getting uncomfortable.”

“Suck it up.”

Lindsey turned to him with a playful leer. “I thought that was the plan.”

“No, the plan is: we’re fucked.”

Lindsey grimaced. “Right.”

They returned to staring at the ceiling while the sound of the shower running and Angel’s off-key singing drowned everything else out.


	44. The Punishment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't really have a summery for this chapter - but to give you a hint, it has Spike, Lindsey, Angel, and it never leaves Angel's apartment.

Angel came out of the shower, toweling his hair. He didn’t look at Spike and Lindsey on the couch, but as he walked to his closet, he commented casually, “You didn’t do as I said.”

Spike pushed himself up with his elbows. “Get used to it.”

Lindsey scooted away from Spike. “This has been fucked up and all, but can you two girls let me go back to my office while you kiss and make up?”

Angel acted like he hadn’t heard either of them, setting his towel aside and selecting a shirt. The silence expanded, filling the air in the room with suffocating expectation. Even Spike’s defiant sneer seemed to freeze into a grimace.

His shirt open over his naked torso, Angel walked to his liquor cabinet and selected a glass. “Have you ever been betrayed in love, Lindsey?” he asked.

They all listened to Angel putting ice in his glass. Lindsey licked dry lips. “Hurts like a bitch,” he said.

“Yes, it does.” Angel sat on the arm of the couch, turned conversationally toward Lindsey. “I don’t know what to do, to stop the pain, to keep it from happening again. I just want us all to be happy, and to do some good in the world.”

Spike’s chin was pressed down as he watched Angel with a worried expression. Lindsey was leaning every so slightly away from him. Lindsey licked his lips again and chuckled dryly. “You could start by letting the lawyer go.”

Angel tilted his glass toward Lindsey. “I understand where you’re coming from, I do. I know you’ve had less choice than the rest of us. It’s just sometimes… I like being unfair.”

Lindsey used his elbows to shift closer to Spike. “That’s not what I’d call reassuring, boss.”

Angel half-shrugged and took a sip from his glass.

Lindsey was more worried about how silent Spike was being than how crazy Angel was acting. Something about the other vampire’s wary stillness made panic well up red and hot at the back of his skull.

“Everyone kept warning me,” Angel looked into his glass, rolling it a bit so the ice clinked together. He smiled. “What Fred had to say – that’s not new. Everyone knows they’re trying to drive me mad. Make me ‘dark’, they say. But the problem is,” He set his glass on Lindsey’s crotch, leaning down to look him in the eye. “I’m already dark. I’ve always been.”

Lindsey made a strangled sound as Angel leaned his weight onto the glass.

Angel continued. “And Spike gave me a nice, convenient target. Someone to treat just how I wanted, without feeling guilty. Do you have any idea how rare it is, for me to not feel guilt? I’m walking a very thin, stressful line, working from the belly of the beast, and you all want to take my one consolation away.” He leaned harder. “How do you think that makes me feel?”

Lindsey was squirming like a spider stuck on a pin. In a high-pitched voice, he said, “Fuck, man, you can have him!”

Angel smiled nastily and got up to stand over Spike. “You see that, Spike? See how faithful your friends are?”

“The evil doesn’t get less when you let it out to play,” Spike said. “You only make it harder to hold in that way. You used to know this, mate. I know you did. Stop while you still sound like yourself half the time.”

“Shut up, Spike. I’m tired of people talking to me like I’m an idiot.” Angel turned back to Lindsey, arms out at his sides. “He was willing to ‘take one for the team’ when it was a stranger.” He smacked Spike open-handed and hauled him to his feet. “How about a deal, Lindsey? You want him so bad – find a way to stop being a pain in my ass, and I’ll let you have him.”

“The partners ordered me to make you jealous, to drive you nuts. What I want had nothing to do with it!”

“Congratulations, Lindsey, on a job well done.”

Spike struggled against Angel’s hold, but he was chained, and wounded, so all he did was make Angel pant with exertion as he beat him down and picked him up again, holding Spike in a full nelson in front of him, he gave Lindsey a feral smile. “And I was trying to be so nice. You should have seen the options they gave me to keep Spike subdued. They have one drug that just hallows the brain right out, leaves nothing behind but a simple, child-like devotion. Be a good boy, Linds, and I might just use it.”

Spike twisted, his shoulder moving in an uncomfortable angle, but all he could do was buck and flail what parts of his body he could.

Angel threw him down again and kicked him, grunting with the effort, hard in the stomach, the ribs, and then, though Spike rolled and raised his arms, in the chin. Spike’s teeth clacked together with a sound like breaking ceramic, and his head lolled, dazed.

Lindsey cringed as Angel stepped over Spike and grabbed Lindsey’s arm, hauling him to his feet.

Angel then calmly snapped Lindsey’s handcuffs, and reached down, his shower-damp hair brushing against Lindsey’s belly, and snapped the ankle cuffs.

Lindsey looked down in shock as Angel returned to the liquor cabinet for a top-off.

Angel settled in his arm chair, legs wide, the broad, pink head of his cock poking up from the loose folds of his unfastened shirt. “Fuck him.”

Lindsey stopped rubbing the feeling back into his forearm and squinted. “Scuse me?”

Angel, unconcerned, took a sip of his drink. “I’ll let you go back to your office and your business if you fuck Spike right now, while I watch. You can beat him, too. This is punishment.”

Lindsey looked down at Spike and then back at Angel. “You’re crazy.”

“Not really, no. I want Spike to associate sex with someone else with punishment. I want him to see how even my enemy knows better than to not do what I tell him. And I want you humiliated.” Angel sank back further in his chair, one hand falling casually to his lap. “Now get moving.”

Lindsey’s hands fell to his sides. He bit his lip. “I can’t.”

“Can’t get it up? Smack him around a bit. That usually works for me.”

“No, asshat. I can’t hurt someone just to get you off. I have scruples, remember?”

Spike’s head rocked between his forearms, and Spike, whom Lindsey had thought knocked senseless all this time, began to laugh.

Angel set his glass down on the floor by his feet. “You’ll do it, or I’ll do it to you.”

Lindsey felt a cold wash of fear. Angel tilted his head back, inhaled, and smiled.

“Fuck.” Lindsey dropped to one knee and shook Spike’s shoulder. “What do I do? Damn it, tell me!”

“I’m telling you what to do, Lindsey.” Angel had his fingertips steepled in front of his mouth. “And I’m running out of patience.”

Spike gasped an end to his frightening laugh. His lower lip hung loose and wet. “Run, you idiot,” he said.

Lindsey was still processing how he could actually do that, what with the exit options all being on the other side of Angel, when he felt hard fingers digging into his nape.

“Time’s up,” Angel said.

Lindey’s punch hit like water against Angel’s stone chest. His next swing was batted away casually, and then he saw a flash of red as his head was hit and he was going down, his limbs not responding.

Angel had him by the hair then, a sharp twinge of pain to compare to the throb in his bones as he was dragged up again and a loud rip announced the destruction of his favorite shirt.

“Don’t! Angel! Liam!” Spike crawled on his elbows toward them, his shoulder brushing past Lindsey’s shin before Angel paused in mauling Lindsey to kick Spike away.

“For him, you care? For someone you don’t even know?” Angel threw Lindsey down.

Lindsey closed his eyes and crawled. Behind him he heard Spike say, “Not for him, you berk. For anyone. Don’t you remember?”

And then there were wet, fleshy sounds of hitting, and Lindsey felt a base coward to move away from them, but what could he do besides sign up for an extra helping of pain?

He didn’t have to feel guilty long, at least. He’d made it only to the end of the couch when Angel lost interest in Spike long enough to grab Lindsey by the ankle and drag him back.

His heart jumped, his body flooded with fear, and then his mind very wisely decided now was a good time to black out.


	45. The Forgiveness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter makes me chuckle a full-throated, evil chuckle. It explores in slow detail one of my favorite kinks: two men forced by a third to do things to each other. OM NOM NOM.

Spike hated the smell, when someone broke. It was like their fear and sweat aged instantly, went sour.

And Angel broke Lindsey oh, so gently. He held him close and whispered humiliations to him like a lover. His fingers moved carefully and exactly over Lindsey, playing him like a virtuoso. He knew all the ways to inflict the most pain and the least damage. The tipping point happened as he was simply licking the thin trails of blood from Lindsey’s split and broken fingernails.

Spike had fought one of his best fights. Lindsey’s scent washed with hope as he lifted his broken body against the very gravity itself and lashed out at Angel, despite injury and chains. He fought past exhaustion and past reason, but eventually, he was just too broken to do any more.

And Lindsey was begging softly. “Just tell me what to do. I’ll do it. Please, Angel. Please. I don’t want… I didn’t want any of this. I just want to do what you tell me so I can go.”

Spike told himself he wasn’t giving in; he was biding his time – humoring the crazy old git until a better escape plan presented itself. He let Angel pick his broken body up and drop his hand into Lindsey’s lap.

Lindsey felt relief, soaking down his limbs and chasing away the pain, though his fingertips still stung in the most intense way, feeling like each nail-bed was larger than his whole hand. But the hard part was over. His head lolled back against a hard cushion and he whispered, “Thank you.” His cracked lips hardly moved.

Lindsey sat up against the base of the sofa, his heart beating loud enough for human ears to hear, and a lusty drum-beat to the vampires. It was nearly the only sound in the room, aside from the harsh breaths Spike puffed against his shoulder and the squelching sound of his hand tugging Lindsey’s dick.

Angel was silent and still, his features hidden by the brightness of daylight streaming in the broad picture window behind him.

Spike very pointedly did not look at Angel. His neck was sore, but he refused to even turn his head in his direction.

Lindsey radiated heat, forming a slick layer of sweat between them where they touched – thigh, hip, side, forearm. Spike felt the heartbeat jumping against his palm through the thin skin of his circumcised dick.

Lindsey’s head dropped onto Spike’s shoulder, but then he jerked it back again.

“It’s okay,” Spike whispered, swallowing down the slight bit of hurt at Lindsey’s obvious discomfort, “close your eyes.”

“No talking,” Angel said.

Lindsey’s eyes helplessly locked on Angel’s, and that extra thrum of humiliation sent a twitch through his half-hard cock. He felt Spike’s hand tighten just a touch, just right to encourage more blood to flow into his dick, and somehow his body found enough extra blood to turn his face red as well. He tucked his head down against his shoulder, trying to hide, somehow, while he was splayed out naked, his cock reaching fully hard now under the expert ministrations of those smooth long fingers.

And hadn’t he dreamed of this? Through slit eyes he watched Spike’s carefully impassive face and remembered a fantasy or two where that face was focused on him, suffused with wicked passion. He loved Spike’s expression while he was fighting, the occasional filthy glimpses he’d seen in the surveillance videos.

But not like this. Fuck, not like this. He tried to will his erection away.

Spike felt Lindsey jerk, heard him sub-vocalizing “Not like this.”

Poor bastard. Spike felt bloodless, like his body wanted to shrink away from his skin. He twisted his hand deftly over the crown of Lindsey’s growing erection, moved with smooth skill along the shaft, coaxing fullness. And he hated that he knew what worked, and how to hold his wrist so he wouldn’t get tired jerking someone off when he didn’t want to.

And he hated feeling like a rapist, and who was Angel to force him into this? Spike felt rage darkening the edges of his vision.

He stopped.

Lindsey felt Spike suddenly still, like a machine unplugged, hard muscles becoming rigid and statue-like. “Ow!” he squeaked, as his own motion tugged his sensitive cock against a hard prison of stone-like fingers.

Spike let go. There was a tremble in him, deep and silent, as he turned his face to Angel.

“Do you like this, Liam? Acting like a villain of the week on some melodramatic TV show?”

“It has its moments.” Angel leaned forward, the light revealing his grin. “And I thought I said no talking.”

Spike tried to stand but didn’t even make it to kneeling before he fell, landing mostly on top of Lindsey. He’d somehow forgotten about Angel snapping his left ankle. He cursed. “What is bleeding wrong with you, Angelus? Why involve lawyer-boy here at all?”

“Because I know pain doesn’t get through to you. I think you’re hard enough now, Lindsey. I’ll let you pick how you want to do this.”

“You pick,” Lindsey said, breathlessly, not raising his eyes.

Angel leaned closer, grinning. “You really are a complete coward, aren’t you?”

Lindsey stiffened, head snapping up, breaths coming faster. He was about to start fighting again.

Spike pushed off of Lindsey, let the couch take his weight. He hated being helpless in any way, and this one was really taking the cake. The pain was enough that he wasn’t hard himself, and that said a lot. “It’s all right,” he told Lindsey. “Just get it over with. He’ll either get his jollies and then leave us alone or realize what a fucked up idea this is, not get off, and also leave us alone.”

“Why not have him suck you off, Linds? He’s great at it. Also, his ass isn’t as tight as it once was. Sorry about that,” Angel added, smugly.

Lindsey saw the self-disgust on Spike’s face, the way he didn’t look at Angel, or at Lindsey. His heart squeezed in his chest. He was a coward, damn it. He touched Spike’s cheek. Spike jerked back, and then he _was_ looking at Lindsey, and Lindsey wasn’t sure that was an improvement.

“Not like that,” Angel admonished. “You aren’t lovers. Grab his hair, Lindsey. Tug hard. Put him where he needs to be.”

Lindsey’s fingers were shaking, still throbbing with pain, and he feared incidental contact with hairs tugging and insinuating themselves into cracks, but he reached obediently.

Spike grabbed his hand and turned to Angel, snarling. “I’ll do it, but you’re going to know it was my choice.”

“Ever the martyr, Spike? You think you’re self-sacrificing, but would you do it if he was someone ugly? Say that Chirago in Finance?”

Lindsey braced himself, expecting the fight to break out again, with elbows and knees and chains digging back into him, but instead Spike turned his face down, breathed deeply through his nose, and, shaking just a little from the exertion, lowered his mouth to the head of Lindsey’s cock.

“Fuck!” Lindsey gasped, feeling those lips kiss over the slit, cool against his friction-and-blood heated skin.

For some reason, he immediately looked up at Angel, who smiled at him knowingly. The melting feeling of soft lips and tongue became directly a result of that smile. Lindsey’s mouth gaped open, trying to taste that smile.

Angel didn’t stand so much as ooze out of his seat and slide up to Lindsey. His abdomen pressed Spike’s head. “You always wanted me, didn’t you, Lindsey? I could smell it on you when I first met you. All that desperate, competitive WANT.”

Angel’s mouth was open, his breath painted Lindsey’s lips and tasted like the sweet, metallic pleasure sliding up and down his cock and burying into his nerves. Lindsey licked his cracked lips. “Power,” he said. There was no reason to hide anything, anymore. “I wanted your power.”

Angel vamped out, his grin looking more maniacal with fangs. Lindsey didn’t hesitate to respond to his kiss, though his tongue sliced easily on those fangs, it was part of what he wanted, after all, all that deadly power.

Distantly, a phone was ringing.

Spike struggled against the oppressive weight of Angel’s body over his head, struggled against the desire to breathe, and the hateful feeling of not even being noticed while the two kissed passionately over him. Lindsey twisted fistfuls of Angel’s shirt at his shoulders, gasping and moaning and whispering guttural promises that were broken off by slurps and bites.

He wasn’t sure what would happen if he stopped, and annoyed at himself how easy he had found it to do this, how automatic he was being. The thought was enough to interrupt his rhythm and threaten to choke him.

Angel broke off from the kiss. “Ready to come, Lindsey?”

“Oh god, yes,” Lindsey gasped. He felt everything pooling into the center of him, desperate to release. His hips lifted of their own accord, pushing against Angel – against that thing between them, the wet suction slipping now strangely, so close and not quite there. “Angel, yes.”

Spike cried out as his head was wrenched back hard, Lindsey’s cock slapped him as it popped free and then he was dangling from his hair above him. Angel had shot up to fully standing, his knuckles digging into Spike’s skull as he held him.

“Sorry, Linds. My whore doesn’t get anyone off but me.”

Spike grabbed on to Angel’s wrist, trying to take some of the pressure off, and looked down with sympathy at the utter devastation on Lindsey’s face.

Because the poor sod had just realized none of this had anything to do with him.


	46. The Interruption

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I promised this chapter would have Wes, and I promised it would be Angel POV. I deliver on promises! (I did not specify how MUCH Wes would be in the chapter. Hee!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentines day, porn-lovers! I gift you with porn! *mwah*

Angel could see he’d gotten through to Lindsey, but Spike was being obstinate as ever. For one thing, he was looking at Lindsey instead of his own lover. Angel walked his hands down Spike’s body, lifting him and pulling him in closer. The familiar shape enflamed his desire. He’d been teasing himself, holding off any pleasure. He could have jerked off in the shower, but he hadn’t, he’d let his cock hang hungry and burning for attention while he washed the stink of Lindsey from himself.

After all, this was about punishment, not about what Angel wanted.

But now he had Spike in his arms, again, and he smelled of wounds and defiance and just a hint of that delicious despair that was rolling off of Lindsey in thick waves. The t-shirt was battered already and tore off easily, but Spike’s jeans were the usual, obnoxiously tight and difficult to take off sort he was so fond of. Angel tugged the fly open and Spike started struggling again. He was weak from injury and blood-loss, but it was still annoying. Angel slipped his hand in and grabbed a handful of flesh. “That’s it, baby, you know how I like it when you buck.”

Predictably, Spike froze into a quivering, stiff anger. Angel had to smile at just how easy it was. He threw Spike over the arm of his chair so he could get both hands on his waistband to pull the jeans down. Spike had a purple bruise spidering out from his left hip, but the globes of his ass were smooth and perfect as always, like two scoops of sweet vanilla. Angel’s hands slipped in between denim and flesh, rough and smooth textures sliding apart around his fingers. “Why do you even wear clothes, baby? It’s a shame to hide this gorgeous ass.”

Spike said some stuff- probably things he thought were clever and invective enough to “snap him out of it”. Like just wanting something for yourself was a sickness, a crime. Angel smacked him. His head jerked pleasingly to the side, eyelashes fluttering with momentary insensibility. Angel then had a few seconds to guide his cock to his entrance, pressing his fingers forward to open him up – regardless of what he had said, Spike was still quite tight. It was one of his favorite things about him.

Spike then tried to fend him off one last time, twisting and raking his fingers through the air in a futile attempt to catch Angel in the face. Angel took his wrist and twisted it up behind his back, pressing down until the shoulder joint made a sound like crushing celery.

Spike spat curses at the chair-cushion, but at last Angel was able to sink into that exquisite channel.

He sighed, pressing his weight against flesh that yielded just enough. He’d denied himself too long, but there was nothing like the satisfaction when you let an itch build for a time before scratching it.

Slowly he started to thrust, enjoying every sensation. His left hand rested lightly on Spike’s hip while his right kept up the pressure on his trapped arm. Spike had stopped struggling, and there was a hint of tears in the air.

That was another thing he loved – how Spike never seemed to break enough or – at the other extreme – become callused enough. He always felt everything keenly. Angel leaned down over his back to chase the smell to its source. Spike was glaring hatefully at nothing at all – a point in the middle-distance along the plane of the seat cushion. Good. Resistance added that spice he’d been missing, like the friction on his unlubed cock, an extra piquancy. If it weren’t for the tight, nagging feeling at the back of his brain that this was not, per se, the right thing to do, he might have to worry about getting too happy.

For a while there was no sound but the slide of flesh on flesh and Angel’s groans of pleasure, rich and vibrating from deep inside him like the sensations building through him.

And then Lindsey cleared his throat. Angel almost paused his rhythm in surprise. He turned to look at the lawyer, sprawled right where Angel had left him, debauched and wearing nothing but the broken bracelets of his handcuffs.

Lindsey quickly looked away. “Can I go now?”

Angel fucked a few seconds in thought. Lindsey was still hard, but his hands were loose at his sides. Now there was a dog who knew how to stay. “Horny, Linds? Want to rush back to your shower where you can jerk off? Who will you picture? Me?”

“I just wanna go.” Lindsey’s voice was flat, his expression carefully still.

The little shit deserved worse. He’d tormented Angel, tried to drive him mad on more than one occasion, and all that while in possession of a soul. “What will you do for me, if I let you go?”

Lindsey’s eyes slipped to Spike. “What do you want?”

Angel’s dick twitched in the confines of Spike’s ass. Live flesh was always better, hot and impermanent.

“Bastard,” Spike said, as though reading his mind.

Angel gave his flank a slap and resumed his earlier rhythm. He had to admit it was nicer, conducting business this way. He pulled nearly all the way out, slowly, and smirked at Lindsey. “Do you wish you were him? Do you want to trade places?” Angel slammed home again, watching Lindsey’s pupils dilate with lust even as he shook his head in denial.

Angel let his eyes pass over Spike to the picture-window and the sprawling city. This wasn’t just for his own benefit. He benefited, but that wasn’t what it was all about. “You will send me every communication you have ever received from the senior partners. And anything they send you from now on.”

“Done,” Lindsey said, without hesitation.

Angel felt a pleasant flush of power, knowing that Lindsey was risking the wrath of demi-gods for him. And Spike was struggling, just a tiny bit, just as much as he could without tearing his arm from its socket, tiny little flinches and twists that added so much.

Fuck, he was close. He leaned down and let his lips trace along Spike’s shoulder. Spike’s breath hitched and he jerked, either from the increased pressure on his twisted arm or a desire to pull away.

The little shit. Angel’s vision flushed red and he tore his teeth into Spike’s nape. The struggles increased, bucking to dislodge him and shouting. Angel growled around a mouth full of blood and saliva and flesh and slammed Spike’s hips down with his own, hard, again, and he almost slipped free.

Slamming his cock back home felt wonderful, almost too hard on the head, so he did it again on purpose, angling his hips down and out, sloppy and wet sounds accompanying slipping, hard, pressing sensations. Spike tried to escape downward and Angel’s cock tugged nearly out again, the shaft dragging through ass-cleft and he let go of Spike’s hand at last to grip those hips and pull them upward.

He came hard, suddenly insensible to sight or sound or anything but the intensity like his whole self pouring into one tiny point.

When his eyesight returned he was looking down at Spike’s bloodied and chewed neck, and he was still angry.

He pushed off Spike quickly. Spike, who was turned away from him, shoulders bowed, every line of his body clearly screaming hate and loathing. Spike, who he had given his love to, who he had believed when he was told he was loved in return.

Lindsey hadn’t moved.

Angel smiled and stretched. He rolled his hips as he walked toward Lindsey, getting some of the kink out from all that exercise. He ignored the sound of Spike sliding off the chair-arm.

“So, Lindsey, what a good boy you are, waiting for me to actually say you can go. I should reward that, shouldn’t I?”

He loved how Lindsey looked at him with mingled fear and hope, so deliciously damaged he didn’t dare say yes or no. Angel kicked Lindsey’s legs so they lay closer together and then straddled them. Lindsey shivered as Angel licked the delicious fear-sweat from his cheek. “Spike’s a bit of an ungrateful bitch, Linds. I might be looking to move on.”

“Thanks, boss, but I respect you too much,” Lindsey said, voice hoarse but still able to carry off sarcasm.

Angel backed off, taking Lindsey’s arms to pull him up with him. “You can respect me on your knees. Then you can go.”

Lindsey let himself be positioned and looked up at Angel with tear-brightened eyes. He looked accepting, almost amused.

A hand closed on Angel’s ankle. He turned to see Spike on the carpet, weight on his right elbow as he reached with his left. “He’s human,” he said.

The self-righteous prick! Like Angel didn’t know that. He kicked Spike away, catching him in the throat. “You had your turn,” he said.

“Now, then, counselor, I need a little assistance, here.” He held his half-hard dick and aimed it toward Lindsey’s mouth. After Lindsey’s lips closed over the head, he thought he should have made a pun about depositions or briefings… opening statements, yeah.

Soft tongue, smooth teeth, plump lips. Angel flexed his hips, fucking just a little bit into the hot, wet cavern, making him take just a little more than he wanted and feeling the panic, the half-choked breaths. All too soon he was in danger of losing his load again. He grabbed Lindsey by the hair and pulled him off, enjoying the look of shock on his face and the way he trembled a bit. He pushed him aside, nudged his hip, and Lindsey obediently dropped onto all fours.

Lindsey’s ass was plumper than Spike’s, his thighs thick with muscle, and the skin radiated delicious heat. Angel let himself savor it, stroking down his haunches. He looked at Spike, who was crawling back toward him, glaring murderously. He wasn’t crawling very well, though. His left shoulder seemed unable to take his weight. That served him right. Angel was glad Spike was watching as he sank into Lindsey. The pain of intrusion washed over Lindsey’s scent, sharp and clean. Angel moved his hands to Lindsey’s shoulders and started to thrust.

The elevator pinged, opened, and Wesley stepped out. Even Spike froze where he was in his tortured crawl.

Wesley cleared his throat. “You weren’t answering your phone.”

“I’m a little busy, Wes.” Angel gestured at Lindsey’s back.

Wes raised an eyebrow. “Yes, I saw that on the security camera. Nevertheless, you can’t expect me to let you neglect your duties, again, for your… personal relations.”

Wes might have been playing Mr. Stone Cold lately, but he still looked a bit uncomfortable at the end of that sentence, and liable to blush soon. “Give me five minutes,” Angel said, flexing his hips against Lindsey’s ass.

“With all due respect, no, I will not. Medical is on their way to tend to Spike and Lindsey’s injuries. I suggest you clean up and get yourself dressed and down to your office immediately. We have a client who insists on speaking directly to the CEO and I am tired of making excuses for you.”

“I’m not in a mood, Wes.”

“Would you like to speak with Fred, perhaps? Or Charles?”

Angel felt the blood in his mouth souring. He resumed fucking Lindsey hard, grunting a bit with effort. “I’ll be right down.”

“See that you are,” Wes said, and left.


	47. The Unlikely Allies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: kinda plotty. No actual rape this chapter.
> 
> Hi dears! Another chapter! I know I got non-posty again there for a bit! Mea Culpa! I got all busy 'n stuff.
> 
> Also, this chapter was a bit mean to me and NEVER actually got to the one piece of plot I wanted it to, so that plot point will now be the NEXT chapter. Good news is: I already know what I want to happen in the next chapter. That puts me more ahead of the game than usual. :D

Spike was pushed and pulled and lifted by rubber-coated fingers, and someone stuck a needle into him, after which there was spreading warmth and darkness.

He awoke in the Wolfram and Hart medical wing. Which was annoyingly familiar. He propped himself on one elbow and saw Lindsey in the bed next to his. Lindsey’s eyes were bruised with fatigue, his chin stubbled and hair wild against the clean white sheets.

“Apparently, being a champion doesn’t even rate a private room,” Spike muttered.

Lindsey’s eyes slit open. “Fuck you,” he said, voice as rough as his face.

“Didn’t know you were awake.” Spike lay back down. He wanted to say something soothing, knowing what the guy had just been through, but of course what came out was, “You look like shite.”

“Thanks. I just got beaten and raped. You were there, asshole.”

“Yes, I was the bloke with a dislocated shoulder trying to stop him. Would have been lovely if you’d put up a little bit of a fight, but I guess you got distracted with all the dick in your face.”

Lindsey scowled and turned away from him, shifting the thin hospital blanket to cover himself.

Spike cursed under his breath. “Didn’t mean that,” he said. The shuffling, beeping hospital-silence was his only reply. He sighed. “It’s lashing out, yeah? Hate feeling helpless.”

After a pause, Lindsey’s shoulder shifted. “Is that what you think? That I like feeling like this?”

“Christ.” Despite the immediate, painful complaint of his shoulder, hip, and parts of him he hadn’t ever bothered to catalogue, Spike sat up, hopped feebly to Lindsey’s bed and sat down next to him. Lindsey flinched away, but Spike put his hand on his shoulder, calming him. “You’ll do a lot better, mate, if you start off by ignoring anything some prat of a vampire says.”

He could feel Lindsey battling between the fear and the desire to just be touched without pain. Spike calmed the nervous shifting with an easy, slow hand brushing gently over Lindsey’s shoulder. Lindsey turned and looked at him in shock.

Spike smiled at that. It was good to know he could still shock people. “Bet you’re wishing you hadn’t come back to hell-A, eh, cowboy?”

Lindsey rolled his eyes. “Not my smartest move, no.” His hand moved to Spike’s, still against his shoulder, and gripped it. “But I’m glad I met you.”

Now it was Spike’s turn to roll his eyes. He scooted a little away from Lindsey, too, for good measure. “All right, no reason to be a big girl about it.”

“I just wanted to be free,” Lindsey said, looking down at his hand, now laying over his own shoulder where Spike’s had been. “I ran away, but what good is running when death brings you right back here?”

“There’s no such thing as free,” Spike said. “There’s always something holding you, somewhere.” He scratched at the edge of a bandage and shifted uncomfortably. “What I don’t get is, if they want Angelus mucking around, why not call in some wizard and just snatch his soul away? Would save some wear and tear on my arse!”

The change in subject seemed to relax Lindsey. He scooted up to sit. “It’s that prophecy. They want him dark, with the soul. In fact, if he loses his soul, his contract is voided. No soul, no CEO.”

“It’d be funny if we weren’t in it; all the forces of evil bending over backwards for some stupid prophecy that’s probably just some ancient wizard’s wet-dream.” Spike caught himself before launching into a rant on prophecies and frowned at Lindsey. “But why me?”

“How many vampires-with-souls do you think there are?”

“Not YOUR plan, git. This plan.” He waved around the ward room, encompassing the two of them and their wounds. “Your senior partners seem to be going to a lot of trouble to shove me into Angel’s bed.”

Lindsey shrugged. “There were probability studies done, and you came out as the best bet to turn him dark but not make him ‘perfectly happy’.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Like you said; it’s not my plan.”

Spike picked at the skimpy papery gown he’d been put into, lifting it to see the extent of bruising along his thigh. For some reason he didn’t want to look at Lindsey as he asked, as casually as he could, “What would your plan have been, then?”

Lindsey smirked. “Besides the one that fucked everything up for both of us?”

“Would you leave me here?” Spike met his eyes directly. “Would you save yourself, or would you do the right thing?”

“Maybe it’s the drugs talking, but no, I wouldn’t leave you behind. Think it’d be kinda fun, going into the sunset together, fighting evil from the back of a pick-up or something.”

His fingers reached for Spike’s. Spike let him. “I’ll pass on the sunset, thanks. Bloody dangerous.”

Lindsey’s fingers were thick and warm and pleasantly textured, rubbing against Spike’s own. Spike found himself leaning into the touch, shortening the distance between them again. Lindsey scooted over and Spike curled up beside him. “We’re probably both a little comfort-starved,” he said. “Don’t read anything into this.”

Lindsey wriggled a little closer. “I won’t. And don’t read anything into it later when I’m feeling better and smack your ass.”

***

Gunn arrived at the lab first thing in the morning with a tray of mochacinos and a briefcase. “Even Wes is agreeing that Angel’s overboard.” Gunn let Fred clear a space on a lab bench before setting out his documents. He looked shell-shocked as he glanced over a paper before laying it in front of Fred. “That’s your affidavit. Read it over. I have a judge lined up who I think will side with us, but you’ll have to be prepared to defend your statement that Spike is competent.”

“Like, how?” Fred squinted at the tiny typing.

“For starters, they might accuse us of just trying to get our friend out of his current situation. Which is true. But it’s also true that Spike is a competent adult and capable of supporting himself.” His eyes scanned rapidly and he grimaced. “If only we could get him a source of stable income.”

“Could I hire him as my assistant? Maybe privately?”

“It would look like a conflict of interest. Maybe we could get Lorne to contact one of his business clients.”

Fred brightened. “Maybe a stunt man? A vampire could do all sorts of things a human would get hurt doing, like falling off buildings and crashing cars – Spike’s real good at that.”

Gunn smirked. “I don’t think we can get him that kind of job fast and without an interview. I was thinking production assistant or catering.” He fished his cell out of his pocket and thumbed through his contact list for Lorne.

The door to the lab opened and Nolex walked in, flanked by two flunkies in identical suits. “No, don’t get up,” he said, smiling, as Gunn clenched his fist and stepped slightly in front of Fred, who quickly put her papers behind her back.

“One more step and I call security,” Fred said.

Nolex did stop where he was, but he made it look like that was his intention from the beginning. “No need to do that. I’ve come to save the day.”

“Thanks,” Gunn said, “But we’ve got it covered.”

Nolex took a lazy step forward. “It’s simple, really – you know the real danger here is Angel. Power corrupts, and he has been given absolute power. Take away his playthings and he’ll be sour, but he’ll have to face reality, and his friends.”

Fred folded her arms. “You want us to give you Spike.” It wasn’t a question.

“I know, the senior partners will be pissed with me,” Nolex shrugged. “I confess I’ve been thinking of betraying their plan ever since I got an actual taste of the delicious vampire. He’ll be much better off with me, you know. I have no intention of fogging his mind or controlling his thoughts. I just want to fuck him. A lot.”

“We will never,” Gunn enunciated slowly, anger tight under his controlled tones, “give someone up to slavery like that.”

“Again, you mean?” Nolex smiled.

Fred had to grasp Gunn’s arm to keep him from punching the demon. Fortunately, the security guards arrived then, looking to Fred and Gunn for instructions.

Nolex raised his hands, cheerful in surrender. “I’m just here to talk to my lawyer. Maybe Angel’s tired of his toy, after all. But do let Spike know my proposal, or would you keep his options hidden from him, again, too?”

Now it was Gunn’s turn to catch Fred’s arm as she started after Nolex and the guards. “He’s not worth it,” Gunn said.

After a moment, she relaxed. “Right.” She turned and smiled brightly, if a bit tensely, at him. “We have a plan, and it’s going to work. Between my brains and your lawyer brains.”

Together, they bent over the papers, but Gunn’s voice was quieter, as though the brief visit by Nolex still hung over them as he outlined the procedure for a competency hearing.


	48. The Break-up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is just a bit daft, to warn you. I giggled madly to myself when I got this idea, but I don't know if anyone ELSE will feel that way. ;)

Angel’s shadow fell over the two sleeping figures. The woven cotton blanket fell clingingly over two hips, an arm stretched around a waist. Nothing was left to the imagination.

Angel clenched his fist. Slowly, he forced himself to release it. He set his hand on Spike’s shoulder and shook him.

Spike cringed closer to Lindsey. Angel shook a little harder, finally pulling Spike over onto his back.

Spike blinked at him, and then his sleepy, slit eyes opened wide with fear. His left hand went immediately to Lindsey’s back.

Angel’s fists clenched again. He took a step back. “Get up,” he said. “Leave Lindsey alone.”

Spike froze.

Angel waited.

Spike’s eyes stole to Lindsey for a moment, but he drew the blanket back and slipped out of bed. “This isn’t what it looks like, Angel.” He spoke quietly. “Lawyer-boy was just scared and…” Spike glanced up at Angel’s eyes and his words died off. He tugged his hospital gown, trying to cover more of himself before straightening his shoulders and speaking more firmly. “Don’t hurt him. He’s human. Try to remember that.”

Under the blanket, Lindsey rolled into the depression where Spike had been, making a puppyish noise as he settled back into deeper slumber.

Angel’s teeth ground together. He turned and walked out of the room, leaving it to Spike to follow.

A part of Angel hoped he wouldn’t.

There were no good places for conversation in the medical wing. It only had three private rooms for convalescents, which were full, and the long ward room and lab area. Angel marched through this and out the fire exit to a sterile, unused stair landing. He turned and Spike was right behind him, hands on his hips and a fighting expression on his face. He smelled of wounds and disinfectant, and Angel had to stop himself from thinking about how fragile and easy to remove the blue hospital gown would be. He dragged his gaze up to meet Spike’s eyes.

Angel took a deep, steadying breath. “This isn’t working for me,” he said.

Spike crossed his arms over his chest. The hospital gown hitched up a little higher as he did so. “My first thought,” Spike said, “Is how very little I care about your feelings right now, and my second is ‘what the fuck is he talking about?’”

Angel matched Spike’s pose. “Our relationship, Spike. I love you, and you obviously don’t feel the same way. I can’t stay in a relationship that’s unequal.”

Spike’s jaw dropped open, and his arms relaxed. “You’re breaking up with me!”

Then he laughed.

Angel slammed Spike into the metal fire door. It clanged in its moorings and Spike sobered instantly.

Spike spoke softly, like one would to a possibly-violent mental patient. “So we’re back to this, are we, Liam?”

Angel shoved off of him, turned to pace, and found that the small landing afforded no pacing distance. He punched the wall opposite and the sound of flesh impacting cinder block was impotent and weak. He shook his fist out and turned to find Spike watching him warily. Angel sighed. “Why do you do this to me?”

“Don’t know,” Spike said, sadly. “We’re like chemicals that shouldn’t be stored together.”

“I’m breaking up with you, Spike. I want you out of my apartment.”

“I can’t leave the building.”

Angel blinked. He’d actually forgotten that, for a bit. “It’s for your own protection.”

“How about I protect myself for a while?” Spike’s defiant glare softened, no doubt reacting to Angel’s hurt. He stepped closer, but stopped, a reaching hand falling to his side again. “Sign the papers, Angel; set me free.”

Angel felt a small clenching of doubt and remorse. He squashed it down with anger. “I would like nothing more than to never see your lying face again, Spike, but since I actually do care about you, I’m going to have to keep you here. Talk to Harmony about living quarters. I’m sure we have some.” He knocked Spike out of the way with his shoulder and reached for the door. It stuck in its frame as he tugged to open it.

Behind him, Spike asked, annoyingly softly, “What about Lindsey?”

Angel had to close his eyes and take a moment to keep from tearing the door off its hinges. “If I ever smell you on him again, I’ll remove all his skin.”

The door banged open at his next push, perhaps a bit harder than he intended, and Angel tried not to look directly at anyone as he stomped through the medical wing.

***

Spike felt a quake in his limbs as the fire door swung back into place after Angel’s exit. Shock, fatigue, the slow dissipation of fight-or-flight. His head was still whirling, trying to catch up to Angel’s logic. He leaned against the cool painted cinderblock to catch his breath.

Belatedly, he remembered Lindsey was in the path of Angel’s bull-headed rush. Spike pushed off and ran after Angel.

Angel was not in the hospital room when he reached it, but Lindsey was sitting up, blinking sleepily at him.

Exhausted, Spike dropped onto the other bed and rubbed a hand over his face.

“Where were you?” Lindsey asked, somewhere between panicked and confused.

“Angel stopped by,” Spike replied, smiling grimly as he saw Lindsey’s expression slip closer to panic. With a sigh, Spike laid down. “Don’t worry, he’s gone again.”

He felt Lindsey’s exhaled breath, practically felt the tension leaving. But then Lindsey straightened again. “When he came in, we weren’t…”

“Snuggled up like lovebirds? Yeah, we were.” Spike glanced to the side and saw Lindsey hunched forward, one hand splayed on his chest, as though checking for his own solidity. “Congratulations, the craziness came out on our side for a change, but I think I’ll stay in my own bed now, yeah?” Spike put his arm over his eyes. For all he knew, he could wake from his nap to find Angel back and in a more pummeling mood, but at the moment he didn’t care. His bones were sore and he wanted rest.

“Hey,” Lindsey said. A few seconds later, after another “Hey”, he threw his pillow at Spike.

Spike tossed the pillow back with a glare.

Lindsey didn’t look apologetic. “What did he want?”

Spike smirked. “To break up with me.”

“Come on, seriously. I need to know.”

“I’m not joking, you berk. That’s what he said.” Spike held his wrist to his forehead in mock melodrama. “He just can’t bear the inequity in our relationship.”

“Seriously?”

Spike lay back with his arm across his face again. “In case you haven’t noticed, Angel’s sanity has left the building. Fuck, I could use a cigarette.”

Lindsey’s bed squeaked and complained as he got up, and then there was the high-pitched squeal of the IV-stand wheels. Spike peeked out from under his arm. “There’s nothing we can do right this moment, you know.”

“Yeah, well I’m not waiting here for round two.” Lindsey followed the edges of the room, picking up random items. “Where the hell are my pants?”

Spike snickered, despite the misery of their situation, Lindsey looked adorable with his round ass hanging out the back of his hospital gown.

Lindsey turned and scowled at him, clearly reading the snicker right. He limped back to the bed and hit the nurse call button. “Asshole.”

“Couldn’t see it. Maybe if you leaned down more.”

They both turned at the quiet knock on the door, expecting a nurse, and for a second the lab coat confused Spike, but it was Fred. “Glad to see you guys are up and around.”

Lindsey turned his back away from her and grabbed the rear opening of his gown. “Uh… hi. Don’t suppose you could get somebody to bring me back my pants?”

Fred said, “I’ll ask on my way out,” just as Spike said, “She’s not your secretary to boss around!”

Fred smiled reassuringly. “It’s okay, I don’t mind. I just came to see how y’all were doing and to tell you that Gunn has scheduled a competency hearing for Thursday.”

Spike got out of bed vampire-fast and clasped Fred’s hands, sending her reeling back a bit. “That’s wonderful news, love.” He kissed her cheek. “Tell Charlie I’ll kiss him, too, if he gets me out of here.”

Lindsey sat down hard on his bed, hands between his thighs, his gaze far away.

One arm around Fred, Spike nudged his knee. “What’s got you bothered? I’m getting out! That’s one less problem for you, innit?”

Lindsey raised one eyebrow. “Who do you think the senior partners are going to get to present the case against you?”


	49. The Hearing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is all plot!

The courthouse had that mixture of institutional blandness and faux grandeur endemic to legal buildings. In short, it felt like an extension of Wolfram and Hart, only with more wood paneling.

The windows weren’t necro-tinted, though, so Spike had to pace the trapezoidal strip of waiting room not flooded by cheerful sunshine while he waited for his hearing. Fred sat nearby, hands clasped over her no-nonsense pencil skirt. Gunn sat near the windows, the sun gilding his shoulders and scalp while he shuffled papers around and spoke into his phone.

“Don’t be nervous,” Fred said. “Gunn has this all under control.”

Spike stopped his pacing to face Fred. “Then why is he marshalling the troops?”

Fred glanced behind her at Gunn, her expression fond. “Oh, that’s normal lawyer-stuff. It just keeps going. I don’t know how he does it all.”

Spike smiled. “You have a thing for our lawyer?”

“Gunn?” She blushed, quickly peeking to see if he’d heard them. “No, silly. Well, we dated for a while.”

Spike widened his stance, settling in to the lighthearted topic. “And what could have made you let a gorgeous hunk of legal prowess like him go?”

“He wasn’t a lawyer then, but that doesn’t have anything to do with it. We just…”

Fred’s shy smile faded, her eyes focused behind Spike.

Spike turned slowly, stomach tight, and managed not to flinch when he saw Nolex just behind him. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Nolex smiled his rubbery-lipped smile, the tiny wrinkles on the edges of his smooth skin becoming more pronounced. “You have to agree this hearing interests me greatly.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

Nolex leered. “If I could, I’m sure I’d love it, but I’d rather have you.”

Spike didn’t want to back up, but Nolex showed no sign of stopping merely inside his personal space. He heard papers falling – Gunn standing, Fred stepping forward, ready to back him up, it was comforting but also a little annoying. He tucked his thumbs in his waistband and glared right back at Nolex. “Seriously, mate, get over me.”

“It’s the soul,” Nolex said, smiling conspiratorially. He leaned in, mouth open like he was trying to taste the air. “It adds so much: the piquancy of humanity in an indestructible package.”

Spike pushed Nolex away and found Gunn immediately at his elbow, holding him back. “Not in here, man, not right before the hearing.”

Spike shook Gunn off. He raised his fist, delighted to see a flinch from Nolex, but let his arm fall. “See you when I’m a free man,” Spike sneered, and let Gunn steer him toward the door to the hearing room.

It was early still, but there wasn’t anywhere else they could go without walking through Nolex.

Lindsey was already in the room, his papers spread out before him. He looked somehow more thuggish in his nice suit, his hair slicked back and tied at the nape of his neck. There was no sign of his injuries. Spike wondered if he’d had magical healing, until he glanced up and Spike saw the brown smudge of a bruise under his left eye.

Lindsey gave Spike a tiny acknowledging nod and then returned to looking at his papers.

Spike huffed, “Well this isn’t going to be awkward at all,” and slouched against the wall. He could see the sunlight-infused waiting area and its false hope of escape.

Spike had never been in a hearing before. He’d expected a court room, but it was just a meeting room with a round table and a row of chairs along the back wall. The only thing making it feel different from any given room at Wolfram and Hart was the stenographer’s stand and the giant seal of the state of California on one wall. And what was with the bear, anyway?

Nolex sauntered in, passing close enough that his coat brushed Spike’s knuckles, and then Fred hurried after, looking apologetic like it was her fault she hadn’t been able to stop him. Then a bailiff came in and a man in a tweed jacket sat down at the stenographer’s station. Gunn rested an elbow on the table next to Lindsey and the two lawyers talked quietly.

Then Lorne stepped in, wearing sunglasses and a fedora. Fred rushed to give him a hug and touch cheeks. “I didn’t think you’d be coming.”

“I was in the neighborhood,” Lorne smiled tightly, his face and tone anything but casual.

Spike saw the reflected room tilt as Lorne’s shades moved. He frowned. Lorne waved to Gunn and found a seat as far from Nolex as possible, which put him right next to Spike.

“Here we go,” Lorne sighed.

“Come to wish me well, Green Jeans?”

“It’s like watching a train wreck in slow motion.” Lorne tilted his head back, red eyes peering up over the rims of his glasses. “Sometimes seeing the future bites the big one, sugar, but I’m still hoping the best for you.”

Before Spike could formulate a proper response, a door at the back of the room opened and a woman with a black robe thrown on over his suit entered. Spike relaxed against the wall. “Thank Christ.”

The judge lifted her elbows as she sat down, robe-sleeves flapping like wings as she opened the case file the bailiff had placed for her. “Okay, kids, let’s get this show on the road. Lawyers on both sides are from the same firm, let’s have a happy family not a domestic dispute, shall we? Mr. Gunn, you filed for this competency hearing, is your client present?”

Gunn turned in his chair, waving Spike forward. “Yes, ma’am, this is William Pratt.”

“Spike,” Spike corrected, holding out a hand to shake. The judge looked at his hand. He dropped it.

Now Spike knew what it looked like when someone sized you up at a glance. He shifted uncomfortably. “So, uh, how does this work? Are you going to ask me some questions?”

“Sit down, Mr. Pratt.”

Spike wanted to glare at Gunn and remind everyone that he didn’t use his old name, but that didn’t seem like the sort of thing a certified competent adult would do. He pulled a chair out far from the table and sat with his arms crossed.

The judge flipped a paper over, picked it up and peered at it. “Now, it says here that the original competency injunction was filed by you, Mr. McDonald.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“It seems to have been strangely timely that Mr. Pratt was declared incompetent while under arrest and facing deportation.”

Lindsey smiled. “I have no comment on the timeliness of any legal action taken for my clients, Your Honor.”

“And keeping Mr. Pratt in this country was in the interests of your clients?”

“I can only confirm what you have in the briefing there, Your Honor.”

“Yeah, I bet you can,” the judge flipped over a few more pages. “You always were a sly one. This doesn’t look like your best work, though. I’d almost think your heart isn’t in it. Are you having regrets about your earlier injunction?”

Lindsey’s smile evaporated. “I have only my clients’ interest at heart.”

“Your Honor,” Gunn interrupted, “If I could draw your attention to…”

The judge dropped the paper she was holding and gave Gunn a weary stare that shut him up quickly. She then shifted her gaze to Spike, who automatically straightened in his chair like a child in front of the headmaster. “Mr. Pratt, what do you hope to get out of this hearing?”

Spike blinked, mind nearly blank. “Uh… the right to leave this town and go about my business?”

“You realize you will be liable for any criminal charges once declared competent, including your lack of legal identification confirming your right to be in this country.”

“Lady, you can send me back to jolly old, I won’t let America’s door hit me on the arse on my way out.”

She raised one eyebrow a hair and Spike worried he’d spoken too quickly or emphatically – and how the hell did one act ‘competent’ anyway?

The judge closed her folder. “Gentlemen, I’ve reviewed your cases and I’ve seen enough. Mr. Pratt is clearly a functioning adult. The competency injunction is overturned.”

Spike stared blankly for a moment, which couldn’t have done much for everyone’s opinion of his competency, but he didn’t quite believe it was all over.

He smelled fear on Lindsey, that was what made it real to him. He jumped up with a whoop and kissed Gunn on the cheek. “Charlie, you devil! Good job.”

“Gah!” Gunn pushed him off and rubbed his cheek. “Try not to prove me wrong until the judge has left the room?”

The judge made a sound that might have been a chuckle, if she was capable of such a thing, and quietly slipped back out through her special door.

Spike’s eyes fell on Lorne, who had taken off his sun-glasses. He gave Spike a very sad smile and walked silently away.


	50. The Vision

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hello, dirty angsty slash fans! I feel so sorry for yous, and how you had to wait all this time with no porn! So here you go - the latest chapter of Darkening Angel! I was totally working on it all this time!
> 
> Er, this chapter takes a bit of a twist. I've been planing it for some time with evil chuckles, but I'm now nervous to see how y'all react.

Spike tried to hurry after Lorne, but he all but fell over Fred, who had come up to hug him, and then Lindsey was there with a hand extended. He still smelled like fear.

“Hope this won’t put you out with the higher ups,” Spike offered.

Lindsey shrugged. “What are they going to do, damn me more? Enjoy your freedom.”

“Let’s go celebrate!” Fred said.

Gunn smiled. “I had another whole hour set aside for this thing. I’m game. How about Pizzanos?”

Spike squeezed past his well-wishers and into waiting area. Lorne was walking toward the elevators, his fedora and snappy suit-jacket catching and dropping the slanting light from the windows.

Spike glared at the puddles of sunlight as though that would make them go away, then grimaced and ran gingerly along the darker side of the corridor.

Lorne shook his head as Spike stopped to beat some smoke from his pant-leg beside him. “Sugar, you really have to cut back on this tanning habit of yours. It’s not healthy for the differently-living.”

“Damn it, Lorne. You’re trying to run out on me. I want to know…”

“I know,” Lorne said. He turned back to watching the lights over the elevator. “You think I don’t? Mr. Sees the Future shows up all glum, people get nervous. But I can’t paint on a smile at times like these.”

Gunn and Fred caught up then. Fred looked a touch worried, but still smiling. Gunn was on his phone, calling in lunch reservations. He glanced questioningly at Lorne as he said, “Make it for four?”

“I shouldn’t,” Lorne began.

Fred slapped his arm. “Of course you should, silly. When’s the last time we were all free for lunch together?”

“Yeah, Lorne, come along, have a bite,” Spike deadpanned, watching Lorne intently.

Lorne sighed and acquiesced.

Spike fidgeted impatiently all the way to the restaurant and into the restaurant, and pretty much constantly until Fred went to the ladies room and Gunn stepped outside to take a call.

Spike flipped the fork he’d been playing with end-over-end and scooted closer to Lorne. “You had a vision,” he prompted, gesturing at Lorne to continue.

“I warned you, cupcake. I wish I could have spoken in a way you’d understand. It’s so hard, when you see futures, and how you alter them. But now what’s done is done. I don’t blame you.” Lorne looked philosophically into his drink. “It’s never a choice between good and evil, but between how much good and how much evil. You always end up rooting for some smaller nastiness whether you want to or not.” He knocked back what was left of his watermelon-pink martini.

“Bugger the slow slide to hell, Lorne. Lindsey said they planted a vision on you. It isn’t real!”

“Hrm? Oh, _that_.” He waved dismissively with an expression usually reserved for poorly written comedy. “Two-dimensional, all flashing scenes and vague omens. Not what a real vision looks like, lemon drop. And the fact that I can’t really explain to you what the real ones look like should show you how hopeless their cause was, trying to fake me out. No, it was the real vision under it that I was warning you about. The vampire with a soul, doing the senior partner’s dirty work – and believing he’s doing the right thing. Oh, it’s awful.”

“What was the alternative?”

“He would have eventually done the right thing, come to his senses, and killed himself.” Lorne looked into his empty glass with resignation.

“Bloody hell, Lorne. Weren’t there any happy outcomes?”

One corner of Lorne’s mouth lifted. “Welcome to the pain of my existence, cherub.”

“Angel’s destiny,” Spike spat it out like a curse word. “That’s the pain of _my_ existence.” He picked up his fork from where it had landed in a basket of rolls. “Are you saying we have to kill Angel?”

“Counter-planning was never my forte,” Lorne shrugged. His eyes looked redder than usual. “It’s the rejection. Angel feels rejected right now and while we’re out making merry he’s curling up in a ball of hate.”

Spike inadvertently bent his fork in half. He dropped it on the table. “I don’t forgive him,” he said.

“You shouldn’t,” Lorne agreed.

Fred came back to the table, slipping sideways into her seat. “Who are we talking about?”

“Who do disgruntled office workers always talk about on long lunch-breaks?” Lorne smiled and waved his empty martini glass at a passing waiter. “The boss.”

Spike beat a nervous pattern on his thighs, his toes jiggling against the floor. His thoughts were murky. He knew what he had to do, but he wasn’t admitting it to himself, yet.

He jumped up. “Right. I’ve had enough lunch. Thanks, everyone, it’s been great.”

Fred looked up with big round eyes. “But we just ordered!”

He kissed Fred on the forehead. “Box it up for me. Not like I really need to eat, is it?”

His eyes met Lorne’s. Lorne’s eyelashes lowered in a silent benediction.

Spike patted Gunn on the shoulder on his way out, the lawyer was still embroiled in a call and gave him an exasperated smile and wave in return.

Spike knew what he had to do. His boots struck the sidewalk with purpose, and that was a nice feeling, after so long.

No one glanced twice as he walked into Wolfram and Hart, turning up his coat collar as he let it fall back on his shoulders after shielding his head from the sun. The sweet cool of necro-tint enveloped him with the polite indifference of people in suits.

Harmony looked up from painting her nails just to say, “He’s brooding.”

“What else is new,” Spike said, and pushed his way through the big, over-compensating doors.

It was dark in the office; the vertical blinds were drawn tight. Angel held his head in his hands, his gaze fixed on the desk blotter.

Spike stuck his hands in his pockets. “By your sunny disposition, I’m guessing you’ve heard the news.”

Without looking up, Angel said, “You’ve come to gloat.”

“What? That I’m a free boy now? That I can go wherever I like?” Spike rocked on his heels and savored the moment for a breath. He sighed. “No, you tit.”

Angel looked up as Spike’s shadow fell on him. “Then what are you doing here?”

“Poor, insecure Angel,” Spike said. He pushed Angel’s chair back from the desk. Angel stared at him in shock, letting him. Then Spike dropped into his lap. “I’m here because I’ve come back.”

Angel’s expression changed to one of wonder and Spike hugged him, hard, mostly because it put Spike’s face behind Angel’s, where he could grimace without being seen.

And if he shed a few tears as Angel's grip tightened around him, well, that worked both ways.


	51. The Plot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spike takes matters (and Angel) into his own hands!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Now, now, stop hyperventilating. You knew it was going to happen, eventually.

Spike opened his mouth to Angel’s, let himself pretend a bit, believe a bit. His hands wandered of their own accord, seeking something to hold on to, tracing Angel’s muscles under the thin fabric of his shirt.

When Angel broke off the kiss to nip at his neck, Spike gasped, “love you.”

Angel paused, just a second, and Spike added, “Git.”

Angel snorted, then growled a little bit against Spike’s throat, sending a pleasant vibration through his skin that was only half fear.

He reached down and palmed Angel’s cock through his pants, feeling just a little disgusted with himself as it jumped and filled. He bit his lip and hid his face against Angel’s shoulder. But it wasn’t like Angel was looking. He was unbuttoning and pulling fabric aside. He lifted Spike’s hand away by the wrist as he unzipped himself and then set Spike’s hand down again, with a little squeeze to close the fingers around his hard length.

Spike pumped him easily, familiar from long practice, and shifted his weight more comfortably. He tried to think of the release to come and let his forearm rub against his dick to get it hard.

Angel’s hands crawled up his sides and settled on his shoulders. Spike had to repress an eye-roll at the “subtle” push downward. Then there was a moment as he scooted back that he realized what he was about to do and balked, internally. It wasn’t fair, was it? Why should he have to do this?

Angel pressed down harder. Spike let his feet slide to the floor and lowered himself, kissing down Angel’s chest and refraining from muttering, “Yes, I was in danger of missing your intention” when Angel’s big hands cupped his skull and pulled him closer.

Spike licked up the underside and took the head into his mouth. Angel flexed forward, hitting the back of his throat, and Spike wondered if he really had to do anything. Angel seemed to do just fine without him.

Spike chuckled and almost gagged. If Angel noticed he didn’t let on, or care. His head was laying back now, eyelids at half-mast while his hands and hips flexed around Spike’s head, completely focused on his own pleasure.

This wasn’t going to cut it. Spike pulled off with a wet smack and fought the immediate tug on his hair. He wiped his mouth on Angel’s thigh and placated him with a nuzzle. “Was hoping we could take this upstairs,” he said. “Real slow and proper.”

Angel made a frustrated sound and yanked on Spike’s hair.

That wasn’t how Spike wanted things going. He quickly sucked the tip of Angel’s cock into his mouth and hummed around it for good measure. Made out like it was the nummiest popsicle ever. (He really was making himself sick.) He let his teeth drag a little over the slit and with the tip just laying against his lower lip said, “Want you to fuck me into the mattress. C’mon… please?” Spike dragged his tongue flat over the crown of Angel’s dick and Angel made another frustrated noise and grabbed Spike hard by the biceps. There followed a moment of weightlessness as he was flung over one shoulder.

He struggled, not seriously, just the wriggling play that was expected, and Angel smacked his ass hard a few times as they took the elevator up.

In no time he was face-first into the bedsheets while Angel drilled him into the mattress. Angel’s fat cock was hard as stone, rearranging his insides, practically lifting him with each pull out, hot with friction, and then slamming him down through the plane of the mattress, giving the springs the workout of their lives. Spike strained for a grip, fisting bunches of cloth and tearing the mattress cover, and he shouted “That’s it you magnificent bastard! Harder!” Until Angel finally collapsed, and the bed supports did, too.

Spike felt like his back was broken, but nothing failed to move as he gingerly rolled over and took Angel in his arms, kissing open, panting lips and murmuring “I love you”.

***

Angel woke the next morning rather suddenly, with the thoughtless peace that comes from a deep, dreamless sleep. He stretched and only then, having made physical contact, remembered someone else was in the bed. He turned with a smile, reaching for his lover.

Spike was staring at him, intently. “Ange-?” Spike bit his lip and quickly looked away.

Angel felt a headache coming on, dispelling his morning contentment. “What the hell is it, Spike? You come to me last night, everything is good, and now you’re, what?” Angel threw off the covers angrily. “Going to tell me you’ve changed your mind?”

“No,” Spike said, quickly, softly, and wrapped his arms around Angel from behind.

Angel wriggled free of the clinging arms and stomped to the bathroom.

Spike fell forward after Angel left him. He balled a fist and punched the soft mattress, which bounced unsatisfactorily. His ass was sore. The words of love and devotion he’d babbled out all night left a nasty taste in his mouth. He’d thrown what little self-respect he had under Angel’s feet and still the bastard hadn’t lost his soul.

Spike squashed the thought that it was his fault, that no one could be perfectly happy with _him._

The shower was started. Spike scrambled to his feet and paced, fingers fidgeting as though he could pull ideas from the air. It wasn’t like he could ask Angel, “By the way, what was it, exactly, that made you perfectly happy that one time with Buffy?” Yes, that would work. Because worrying about losing your soul makes you perfectly happy.

Spike stopped in his pacing, standing over Angel’s bedside table. On it was an empty glass, some boring French novel, and a Rolex. Whiskey, intellectual pretense, and the finer things – was that all Angel was? It didn’t seem real.

Spike sat on the bed. None of this was real, that was the problem. He ran a hand over his face and turned to look at the bathroom door, from which steam and the sound of showering came.

Angel’s head was bowed under the spray, but he turned as soon as Spike stepped into the room, though he hardly made any sound.

Spike stepped into the shower. “I’m staying, Angel. Forever and ever. Never going to leave you again. Do you understand that? Can you believe me?”

Angel turned back under the faucet. “No, Spike, I can’t.”

Spike leaned against the glass partition wall, where Angel could see him easily if he bothered to look. It had to be real, he supposed, so it had to be the truth. “I’ve decided to stay. Even if I end up hating it. Thing of it is, I’ve nowhere else to go. Nowhere else to be. I’m a fuck-up, Angel. Never could set my own course, you know that. I’m not going to save the world.” He purposefully left off the ‘again’ and shifted closer. Angel flicked glances at him as he pretended to be more concerned with soaping his biceps. “I don’t even know if I can make you happy, Angel. But I’m going to try. That’s my new mission. You can take it or leave it.”

Angel grabbed Spike and slammed him against the tiled wall. Faces inches apart, droplets of water flew from Angel’s lips as he breathed harshly. His eyes searched Spikes for a moment before he brought his mouth crashing down on Spike’s, kissing hard and bitingly. Spike pressed up against him, straining against Angel’s hold without trying to break it, trying to convince him with lips and tongue and small, needy whimpers.

Angel broke off the assault to gasp. “You love me,” he said, and it was only half a question.

Spike slid down through Angel’s hands to the floor. He picked up the soap Angel had dropped to grab him and lathered it between his hands. “I love you,” he said, looking up through wet lashes. He ran the soap up Angel’s legs and around the powerful muscles of his thighs. Angel’s hard cock was just inches from his face, water running off the tip, but he worked over Angel’s legs thoroughly, watching the expression on Angel’s face as he held on to the soap dish and leaned over him.

“And you were right,” Spike added, a small inspiration. “Right about everything.” He turned his head, catching the tip of Angel’s dick against his cheek and then rolling naturally toward it, taking it in his mouth reverently.

Spike knee-walked around, working so Angel was comfortable against the wall, under the warm spray. He soaped Angel’s balls and ass, playing suds all over whatever he could reach while he sucked and licked and bobbed his head. He opened his throat and swallowed Angel whole, using the distraction to insert a soapy finger and press on his prostrate.

Angel came with a shudder, hands gripping the shower stall walls, mouth agape, eyes staring.

Spike wriggled up his body, a reverse performance of his trip down, and wrapped his arms around Angel, holding him close but gently. “Love you,” he whispered. “You were right.”

Angel shook, thighs first, like he had when he’d come, but it spread to his whole body and Spike found himself thrown aside as Angel crashed to the floor, hands on his head, and suddenly screamed.

Spike scrambled against the faucet, accidentally turning it cold. He quickly yanked it off and stood.

Angel was curled up, his shoulders shaking.

“Angel?”

Spike took a tentative step toward him. He reached out to touch him and that’s when Angel turned to look at him, grinning, and he realized the shakes where laughter.

With a very dark look in his eye, Angelus said, “That wasn’t very smart, boy.”


	52. The Chosen One

“That wasn’t very smart, boy.” Angelus smirked.

Spike relaxed. “Oh thank fuck.” He snatched a towel off the rack and wrapped it around himself as he left the bathroom. “I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to lose it.”

Spike almost rolled his eyes at the inevitability of it as he was thrown into the wall. Angelus was still wet, dripping on his shoulder as he hissed in his ear, “Don’t you turn your back on me.”

Spike shifted his shoulders, trying to ease the pressure on his pinned arm. “Ready for another go already? Be my fucking guest.”

He felt Angelus draw slightly back, and could imagine the confusion on his fanged face. It would be worth laughing at, if he wasn’t about to get raped by a soulless beast.

Angelus flipped Spike around, holding him to the wall by his shoulders, now. He was vamped out, yellow eyes narrowed, confusion wrinkles joining the vampiric bumpies on his forehead. It was, actually, one of the most hilarious things Spike had ever seen. He did laugh.

His laugh cut off quickly when Angelus slammed his head into the wall. “You did this on purpose?”

“Give the vampire a silver dollar.”

The fangs faded as Angelus regarded him carefully. “Well, gee, thanks, Spike. But you know you could have kept being my bitch anyway.”

Spike rested his head back against the wall – it was still ringing a bit from impact. “The CEO job, the special destiny – all of it goes away with the loss of one soul. Enjoy your unemployment check, Angelus.”

Spike blocked the first punch and twisted to try and get his arm back to return it, but then he was sailing through the air again. The windows reverberated as he hit, but thankfully held.

Angelus stomped to the phone. “Get me Hamilton. Now. No, send him to my apartment.”

It all sounded fuzzy through Spike’s ringing head. He shook his vision clear and got his legs under him. Fighting stance first, exit strategy second, he thought, though his eyes did locate his discarded clothing in a pile by the couch.

Angelus approached lazily, scratching one hip. “It’s cute that you think you’ve won something here, but the office job really isn’t a top priority to me. Not like, oh, say, what I’m going to do to you.”

“I beat your wide ass in the opera house. I can do it again.”

“THAT was your plan?” Angelus chuckled. “Restrain me with your tiny little fists? Oh, William. You’re precious.” Angelus turned to open his closet.

Spike barreled into him, knocking him into the rack of clothes. They rolled together in a pile of fabric that smelled of dry-cleaning chemicals. Spike quickly got on top, using the arm of a suit to pin Angelus.

“This is Armani, you little shit,” Angelus growled.

“Big evil vampire, and you can’t bear rip fine wool.” Spike stuck his tongue between his teeth and slammed his knee into Angelus’ groin. Angelus twisted, his arms trapped under the stretched suit fabric. At the sound of a quiet rip he looked anxiously down. Spike laughed and slammed into him again.

Angelus snarled and tore the sleeve in half. Spike ducked just in time to miss the punch and they rolled across the closet floor, pieces of wool and silk flying, neither getting the upper hand.

Spike was on the top again, both of them with their hands around the other’s throat, when someone grabbed hold of Spike from behind and, with impossible strength, lifted him off Angelus.

Spike twisted and flailed, held in a full-nelson by Hamilton, who calmly said, “Hi boss. Got here as fast as I could. Wardrobe troubles?”

Spike’s feet could barely touch the ground, and Hamilton was hardly moving as he kicked back at him. Who knew the bloke was that strong? Spike wondered idly if Eve had been this tough.

Angelus got to his feet, rubbing his neck. “You could say that. Hold him while I get dressed.”

“He’s lost his soul,” Spike shouted, still trying to get out of Hamilton’s grip.

“Ah. I thought there was something different,” Hamilton said. “I like it.”

“He’s not the boss anymore! Let me go you evil pillock!”

Hamilton’s cheek pressed against Spike’s. “It’s the ‘evil’ in that sentence you should pay attention to.”

Angelus tisked, sorting through his damaged suits. “Obviously, Mr. Hamilton, I want your opinion as liaison concerning this rumor I hear that I lose my job with the soul.”

“I’m afraid that’s true,” Hamilton said. “The deal was with the vampire with a soul. I’m afraid I’ll have to activate our contingency plan, unless you can convince me otherwise.”

Spike twisted in Hamilton’s grip. “So get with the contingency plan! Fucking hell!”

Hamilton laughed and pulled Spike tighter to him. “Do you ever stop struggling?”

“Just wait until I get an arm free, you demon bastard, I’ll show you struggling.” Spike lifted himself high and brought his leg back down hard into Hamilton, eliciting a grunt and a slight stumble, but before he could take advantage of it Hamilton had tightened his grip and slammed Spike into the closet door for better leverage.

“Play nice,” Hamilton hissed.

Angelus ignored this exchange while he dressed. Having pulled on a pair of trousers, he he picked up a shirt. “What kind of idiotic contract clause is that?” He turned, arms wide. “I’m the guy you really want running your company.”

Hamilton slammed Spike harder into the wooden door and turned so his shoulder was digging into Spike’s back. Then he spoke with maddening calm, as though fighting with Spike hardly affected his breathing. “Not denying that, but the whole point was to corrupt the soul, and fulfill the prophecy. So you have about, oh, twenty seconds before I call central and we get our witch on retainer to shove your soul back in you.”

“Yeah… keep talking, bastards.” Spike’s cheek was smushed into the wood, so his words were a little slurred.

Hamilton obliged him with a kidney punch.

Angelus laughed approvingly, buttoning up his shirt. “Sorry, but the helpless defiance is part of his charm.”

“Oh, I agree. I’m thinking of keeping him, once we clear out your office.” Hamilton’s thigh moved subtly against Spike’s.

“He’s mine,” Angelus said. “And forget about clearing out my office. I’m staying. Call whoever you have to to get my contract re-negotiated.”

“I’d love to, really. You’re much more fun to deal with this way.” He wrenched Spike sideways, catching his leg as he swung to kick and gave Spike a peck on the cheek.

Angelus glowered. “Wolfram and Hart need a soulled vampire.” He grabbed Spike by the hair and yanked his head as though to show him to Hamilton. “Well, they have one.”

Hamilton’s hold relaxed down Spike’s arms and he rested his chin on Spike’s shoulder. “Keep talking, boss; I’m listening.”


	53. The Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And while I'm at it, how about a nice post of rapey slashy porn?

Spike froze, caught between two very powerful, very evil men who meant him no good. Angelus grinned at him with obvious delight, like he was a tasty treat. He probably smelled pretty tasty, the fear thrumming through him. He gasped. “Bugger that. You won’t keep me. You can’t.”

Angelus paused, thoughtful. “Who did you tell you were coming here?”

Right. What was he going to say? He’d made sure no one who could save him knew what he was doing. Hell, he’d made sure some who could have saved him didn’t know he was alive. Brilliant plan, that was. “E-everyone. Posted a company-wide memo.”

Angelus chuckled. “You’re so cute when you lie.”

“I wouldn’t worry about him,” Hamilton lifted Spike in indication. “Or anyone else getting the word out. Security’s locked down tight and no one knows but us three.”

Angelus looked approvingly at Hamilton, one hand idly stroking the side of Spike’s neck. “So you knew I’d want to re-negotiate.”

Spike jerked away from Angelus only to knock his head against Hamilton, who ignored him to answer Angelus. “Let’s just call it a reasonable assumption and get to the specifics. Like the fact that, as much as we at Wolfram and Hart like to pamper our executives, we can’t let you keep our soul-investment. Spike will have to be securely contained.”

Angelus snarled. “With you, I suppose?”

“So possessive!” Hamilton tisked, but he drew Spike tight against him. “It’s not my say, but I will be taking him straight to the partners. It’s the only way they’d dream of taking your request seriously.”

“Spike was safely held in this apartment for months.”

Hamilton laughed. “Look at that face!” He put his lips close to Spike’s ear. “I think he doesn’t want to let you go.”

Angelus huffed and stepped back, obviously having a tough time pretending to be unconcerned. “How long would this take?”

“We could have a little fun before I go,” Hamilton offered, his hand sliding down Spike’s torso to illustrate his definition of “fun”. “Might help with your separation anxiety.”

“I don’t share.”

Hamilton shrugged. “I don’t really have to ask.”

Spike tried to sink away between their locked glares. “Get a room, you poufs,” he muttered.

“Sure,” Angelus said, smiling nastily. “I suppose I could share this once, since you’re about to do me a big favor.”

Spike had been wriggling himself lower and lower in Hamilton’s grip, and at this point he slammed his elbow into Hamilton’s groin and slipped free.

He made it all of three steps before Angelus tackled him. Spike swung and kicked backward but the big oaf was solidly planted, grinding Spike into the carpet. “Still fighting the inevitable, aren’t you, boy?”

“The only inevitable thing is me kicking your arse, wide-load.”

Angelus pulled his head back by the hair, stretching Spike’s neck. He saw Hamilton’s highly polished shoes walking in front of him. Angelus flexed his hips against Spike’s ass. “What was your plan, Spike? Free me and undo the contract, then what?”

Spike swallowed and looked right up at Hamilton. “You’d kill me.”

“But, baby, you must have known there was that outside chance I’d keep your tight little body for myself.” Angelus’ hands groped and roamed.

“I was willing to die for the world. May as well be willing to live with that.”

Hamilton crouched down. “Lucky you,” he said, “It’s time to start living with it.” He cupped Spike’s cheek with one hand, then drew it back to meet Angel’s. “Heads or tails?”

“There’s no guarantee he won’t bite,” Angelus said, sounding like he hoped Spike would.

“There’s technology for that,” Hamilton said, his fingers tracing down Spike’s skull to dig sharply into the points of his jaw.

Spike clenched his teeth hard, seething his rage in tight, hissing breaths. Angelus held him in a full nelson, watching with passive interest while Hamilton broke Spike’s jaw.

“Now you’ve ruined him,” Angelus admonished, not sounding sorry.

Spike reeled in a haze of pain and the sickening sound of tendons tearing.

“Not at all,” Hamilton said, “Wrap it up and he’ll heal.”

Spike gagged as Hamilton’s large cock slid into his gaping mouth. He vamped out and struggled, but a tight grip on his head kept him still and there was nothing he could do but salivate around the massive thing as it pounded into his throat.

“You should really get him back on those slave drugs soon, though.”

“I’ll think about it,” Angelus said. He let go of Spike’s arms to push his legs apart and line himself up.

Spike flailed helplessly against Hamilton’s thighs until the larger man simply caught his wrists in one hand and held them. Angelus thrust into him hard, lifting his hips.

“Mm,” Angelus said. “But you know, I prefer he know what’s going on. It’s the pain I enjoy. Gotta hand it to you, boy – convincing a man you love him just to steal his soul away? That was deliciously cold. I would have expected something like that from, well, me.” Angelus thrust to punctuate his thought.

***

It was a long night trapped between the sweating muscular bodies of two loathsome men. Hamilton was obviously not human. No human would exhaust a vampire like that and still keep going. In the end, Angelus had opted to drink bourbon and watch a while.

The whole time they talked to each other like super-villains. Plotting evil. Posturing. Trying to get the other to admit they were not as bad-ass.

Hamilton had torn the connections in Spike’s jaw. He could barely swallow and drooled a disgusting mixture of blood and semen all over Angel’s poncy carpet while Hamilton sawed into him on go sixty-seven or somewhere around there.

He hoped it stained.

At last, he was left hobbled and chained by the side of the bed while Hamilton went to ‘arrange things’ and Angelus took a shower. Maybe they thought he was out. Maybe they just didn’t care. He could barely move with all the casual damage Hamilton had inflicted, but he inched along the floor toward the bedside table. It may as well have been a box-canyon wall, but hope gave him strength.

Spike held out hope that Angelus, being caught up in memories and emotions from the last time he’d been soulless, would not have thought about Angel’s cell phone. Sure enough, it was lying on the bedside table, next to some pocket change and a watch.

Spike fumbled and nearly dropped it, smearing blood over the case as his bound hands turned the phone and flipped it open.

“SOUL 404” he texted to Fred, and closed the phone as soon as he saw “Message Sent”.

He threw it under the bed and collapsed about where he’d started just as the shower turned off.


	54. The Cavalry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This time I swear - the next chapter WILL BE THE LAST. DUM DUM DUM!
> 
> And no more posting WIPs for me. Until next time. *cough*

“Have you seen Spike?”

Gunn looked up from his mochaccino as Fred dropped into the seat next to him at the commissary. He carefully moved his mochaccino to his far side. “Not since the trial. He must have skipped town as soon as it was over. Can’t say I blame him.”

Fred frowned at the safely far-off frozen coffee drink and set down her own plain coffee. “It just isn’t like Spike to leave without saying good-bye.”

“We didn’t exactly treat him right while he was here.”

Fred sighed. “I hate thinking he’s all alone now, that we chased him off.”

“Spike? He’s not alone. I bet he’s already called that Buffy girl and she’s speeding his way.”

Fred put her hand on Gunn’s shoulder and leaned close. “You always were a romantic.”

“And you always are after my breakfast.”

Fred’s look turned pained. “Just a sip? They said they were out of the mix.”

“No way.” Gunn took a long and indulgent sip of his chocolate and coffee drink.

Lorne was sashaying across the room, talking into his cell phone. Seeing Fred and Gunn, he ended his call and came over to their table. “Good morning, kiddies. How are we saving the world today?”

Fred smiled. “You’re in a good mood.”

“I had this nasty vision and it didn’t come true. I call that a win, these days.” Lorne dropped into an empty seat and waved his cell. “That and I have a lunch date with Denzel.”

Both Fred and Gunn’s eyebrows rose.

Gunn said, “ _The_ Denzel?”

And Fred said, “You have cell reception? In here?”

“No, Denzel Smith, a delicious bartender who I think has ‘love interest with a dark past’ written all over him. Silly! And of course I have cell reception. They buy these phones from a dark overlord or something, don’t they?”

“I haven’t been getting anything,” Fred said, handing her phone over as Lorne gestured for her to do so.

“Damn. Would have been something if it had been THE Denzel,” Gunn said. He consoled himself with a sip of icy mocha while Lorne fiddled with Fred’s phone.

“That’s odd,” Lorne said. “My phone’s coming in fine, but yours is deader than disco. Here,” he handed her his phone. “Check your messages. But quick, spongecake, I go through withdrawal symptoms after five minutes without a cell.”

Fred eagerly took the proffered phone. “Thanks, Lorne. I’ve been worried I missed a message. I’ve never had it happen where I didn’t know why the phone… ” Fred froze, looking at the screen.

Gunn put down his drink. “Fred?”

She set the phone in the middle of the table, where they both could see. “We have a problem.”

SOUL 404

Lorne frowned. “What does that mean?”

“Error code 404 – file not found,” Fred said. “And it was sent from Angel’s phone.”

Gunn dropped his hand over the phone. “Hey, let’s head to Starbucks down the street. Since they’re out of mochaccino powder here.”

Lorne looked sick. “There goes my ‘dodged a bullet’ feeling. Oh Spike, what did you do?”

Fred wrapped her fingers around Gunn’s hand. “That Starbucks sounds REAL good right now.” He nodded and let her pick up the phone while he urged Lorne out of his chair.

They were all facing the doors when the security guards came in.

***

Angelus tutted when he came out of the shower and found Spike had left bloody handprints on the bed and bedside table. “We’re really going to have to get you cleaned up. You’re no fun like…” Angelus trailed off, looking from Spike and back to the bedside table.

Spike had enough time to realize he was truly fucked before Angelus hauled him up by his hair and shook him. “You little shit! What did you do?”

Spike’s laugh was wet and weak, given his broken jaw, but laugh he did until Angelus made him scream instead. He nearly blacked out when Angelus saw the phone under the bed.

Then he was left there, to lay in a puddle of his own viscera and failure, as Angelus picked up the phone and called security.

“Now,” Angelus said, smugly dropping the phone directly in front of Spike, “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Angelus gathered him up with little concern for his injuries, folding him up like an infant against his breast. There was little fight left in Spike. He let himself be carried to the bath.

The tile was cold and hard, but not unpleasant. At least his wounds wouldn’t stick to it, and he could imagine the cold was soothing. Angelus set a mug down next to him. “Drink, or don’t. I really don’t care.” And then started puttering about the bath – probably getting his preferred perfumed oils in line. For an evil fucker, he was still a pouf.

Spike’s neck trembled with the effort as he raised onto his arms. On the first try he bashed the mug into his lower lip, causing an explosion of pain in his damaged jaw. His vision flickered, but sheer stubbornness kept his hands steady on the mug. He wasn’t going to just roll over, and he needed his strength.

Messily, he gulped the blood down, getting nearly the whole mug before Angelus was picking him up again. He struggled this time, weakly, but that just meant he tumbled into the bath right-side first. The water was just a quarter of the way up the sides of the bath, but Angelus had apparently gotten tired of waiting.

Angelus ran his hands over Spike more intimately than bathing really required, spreading water as the tub filled and starting to gently soap Spike’s arms and torso. His big hands ran carefully – almost lovingly, Spike thought, if he was stupid enough to believe that in Angelus. Then the pads of his fingers passed over a particularly sore wound and he stopped to dig his fingernails into it. Spike stiffened, clenching his teeth lest he give the bastard the scream he so obviously wanted.

“Naughty boy,” Angelus said, “Getting yourself so worked over.” He ran the washcloth over the wound he’d just ravaged, tinting the soap bubbles pink and burning the wound with antiseptic’s sting. “It’s your fault for letting that filthy Hamilton do these things to you. I’m going to have to punish you for that, lad. Make sure you know who you really belong to.”

“Angelus,” Spike managed, holding his jaw tight, feeling the muscle start to knit. “Someone will shove that soul…”

Angelus pushed his head under the water. Spike thrashed, trying not to panic and breathe the hot, soapy water in. The hands on his neck and chest where firm as posts, pinning him to the bottom of the tub until he forced himself to still, though his chest still heaved internally, muscles grasping frantically for the air they didn’t actually need.

Angelus let him up and Spike gasped to the surface, his eyes still closed when hands held his face and a tongue thrust into his mouth.

Spike tried to shake free for a second, but then came to his senses and simply bit Angelus.

The blood was a welcome taste even as the back of his head cracked against the tile wall. “You little shit!” Angelus plunged him under again.

When the hands holding him down loosened, Spike didn’t think why they had, he just pushed himself up again and took in great lungfuls of air.


	55. The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! The ~~crushingly disappointing~~ gripping conclusion!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beware, it is full of denouement.
> 
> In general - sorry! Sorry. It just had to end, you know?

Fred scrambled under the table as the guards closed in on them. Lorne held his hands over his head. Gunn dropped his mochaccino and slugged the first guy to come close enough.

He had the pleasure of seeing the bastard go down with a comical look of surprise on his face, but his next swing was blocked, and a riffle butt hit him in the kidneys, and before he knew what was what, he was wrestled onto the very same table, spilled coffee soaking his suit while handcuffs squeezed shut, unforgiving metal on his wrists.

A guard pulled Fred out from under the table by her hair. He struggled anew at that, but was unable to do more than shake with anger as they plucked the cell phone from Fred’s hands and turned her around to give her the same treatment Gunn had endured.

“Hey! She won’t hurt you. Can’t we all get along?” Lorne asked, somewhere behind him.

Gunn was jerked up to his feet and shoved after Lorne, who was handcuffed and still trying to charm the guards. Someone to Gunn’s left said, “C Team reports they’ve got Wyndham-Pryce.”

“Good. Keep all teams alert for signs of trouble and report to the boss.”

Gunn stumbled, shocked that he’d been sure Wes would save them, up until this moment.

When they were thrown together in a cell, Fred scooted over to lean her head on his arm. “Don’t worry,” she said.

“What’s not to worry about? Angel’s lost his soul, we’re being rounded up and shackled.”

“Yeah, but I got a text message off.”

He looked at her quietly smug expression. “Fred, what kind of text message could stop Angelus?”

***

Spike noticed the light, first – unnatural and wavering like reflected water on the ceiling and walls. He grabbed the side of the tub and rose up.

Willow stood in the door to the bathroom, her hair fanning out from an unseen wind. Angelus was curled up, his face contorted in a silent howl, surrounded by a ball of swirling semi-transparent energy.

Spike slipped and almost fell under again, sending a wave of bath-water over the edge.

“Hi. Um.. get help? I’m not all-powerful, you know. Dimension hopping, containment spells… this isn’t going to last. I need to rest up and find an Orb of Thesula. Don’t worry about being naked. Just go… get help.”

“So you got my message.”

“Did I mention the getting help?”

Spike slipped again, making a squeaking noise against the side of the tub, but eventually got himself up onto the edge of the bath, hanging off the towel-rack. “Got a broken ankle, among other things, and Angel’s minions are surrounding us.” Angelus glared at Spike through the film between them, mouthing words Spike purposefully did not try to read. “Just put him to sleep.”

“Magic isn’t just magic. I don’t have a sleep spell prepared! Goddess, why is everyone a back-seat wicca?”

It was, all told, more than a little surreal. Spike laughed.

“That’s not helping! Get something to tie him up with.”

Spike wiped tears on his arm and pulled himself to standing. “Sorry, Red. It’s just so crazy. I know where Angelus keeps his chains.”

He managed to get himself wrapped in a towel, using his arms to pull himself along the wall, but once he got into the main area of Angel’s apartment, of course, there was a broad expanse of wall-less-ness, and he had to swallow his pride and crawl to the pile of discarded chains by the bed.

It was a long, painful crawl, but triumph was a good painkiller. When he got back, Willow shot a glance at him, quick and impatient. She was sweating. Spike dragged the chains toward Angelus, and as he got near, the bubble of energy sank, clinging to Angelus like plastic wrap, then dissolving, leaving him perfectly still.

Willow was shaking and silent, her hands outstretched toward Angelus, holding him.

Spike swung the chains over Angelus, grunting in pain as he put weight on his bad leg. He almost fell over when he stopped himself from grabbing Angelus for support. Gritting his teeth, he got the first loop of chain secured around Angelus’s torso. “You know this won’t make much of a difference.” Feeling more confident, he threaded the chain between Angelus’ arm and body. “Soul or not – he’s the bloody same.”

“I’ll take the one with a soul, thanks,” Willow spoke through gritted teeth.

As soon as the last chain was locked on, Willow dropped her hands with a sigh of relief, and Angelus thrashed into full motion. “You little bitch! I have staff, you idiot. When they get here, I’m going to have them strap you down and I’ll laugh while I’m…”

“Yeah,” Willow said, waving at him. “Heard it all before.” She rolled off the door-jamb and into the bedroom. “Wake me in an hour.”

Spike watched with increasing worry as Willow dropped herself on the bed.

Angelus laughed. “Well well… I’m sure that won’t hurt your chances.”

“Fuck off,” Spike said, and closed the bathroom door on him.

***

Spike tore up one of Angel’s shirts to bind his ankle. The silk felt good and strong against the wound. He then dressed himself, all the while watching the doors and jumping at every quiet sound.

But he knew Angelus hadn’t planned on them being interrupted that morning. So hopefully...

The elevator hummed into motion. Spike swore and got himself upright, with the corner of Angel’s sofa offering support against his leg. At least he could fake a fighting stance, though one step would send him tumbling. He clenched his fists and looked back at the sleeping witch and then at the shiny, inoffensive elevator door.

It opened.

Spike raised his fists.

Lindsey jumped into the room, a sword in his hands, having rolled out from the relative cover of the interior wall of the elevator.

They both looked at each other in confusion.

Spike relaxed onto the arm of the couch. “What are you doing?”

Lindsey lowered his sword. “Rescuing you.”

“Git,” Spike laughed.

Lindsey scowled, eyes darting back and forth. “Where is he? I know he’s up here.” He caught sight of Willow on the bed and frowned more deeply. “Who’s that?”

“Rescue party the first. Angelus is trussed up in his own bondage equipment. Now put the sword down and tell me two things: where is Hamilton, and can you get a hold of Wesley’s magic supplies?”

***

Hamilton showed up shortly after Willow finished the re-ensoulling. Angel gave him a glare to end all glares, and Hamilton merely put his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “Well, this is complicated. I’ll get legal and Inhuman Resources on the phone.”

“Get out,” Angel growled.

Hamilton nodded. “I’ll get with Harmony to schedule the follow-up.” He turned on one heel and walked out.

The security guard Hamilton had brought with him looked uncertainly from Angel, who was still on the floor, disheveled, and the exit.

“Follow him,” Angel snapped.

It was a confusing day, all around, for security.

Angel led the way, silent and glowering, to the holding cells.

After making sure Spike was safe with the medical team, Lindsey jogged after him, humming cheerfully.

Angel glared at him. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m getting asked that a lot, today. Just enjoying being the better man, boss.”

Fred ran at Willow when the door opened, giving her a big hug. “OMIGOSH. I’m so glad you have that short emergency number or I’d have never gotten it off! I mean, no offense, but ‘Rosenberg’ is hard to type with your thumb under a table!”

“For just such an emergency,” Willow shrugged.

Lorne straightened, as his handcuffs were taken off, and leveled a grave expression at Angel, who looked away.

It was Gunn who asked, “Where’s Spike?”

Angel, grimacing at the mixed expressions of his friends – anger and pity seemed high on the list – turned without a word and left.

Lindsey followed.

Angel went to the medical wing and found Spike’s room. Outside the door, he turned to Lindsey and said, “Go.”

Lindsey tilted his chin up. “So you can hurt him?”

Angel winced. “I don’t want you here.”

“Tough. You had a soul last time, remember? I’m not about to leave you alone with anyone.”

Angel closed his eyes. “Just… wait. Give us a moment.”

“Why?”

“Because I have to apologize!” Angel shouted.

Lindsey smiled. “Sure. Think it’s worth it, just to see that look on your face.” He lifted his sword to rest on his shoulder. “But I’ll be running in the first time I hear trouble.”

“There won’t be trouble,” Angel said. He took a deep breath and set his hand on the doorknob. “I won’t be making any.”

Angel stepped into the room. Spike was sitting sideways on the hospital bed, looking down at the plastic boot on his left foot. He was wearing a hospital gown in a sickly lavender. He instantly looked up.

Angel held up both hands before Spike could call for help. “I came to say I’m sorry.”

“Sorry.” Spike’s lip curled. “Hardly covers it, don’t you think?”

Angel felt his fists tightening at his sides. “You purposefully made me lose my soul.”

“Yeah, and how did I manage that?” Spike slipped off the cot, testing his weight on the plastic boot. “Oh, that’s right – played to your ego, got you off. Face it, Liam – you’re a shallow dick.” Spike gave him a witheringly cold glance and reached for his jeans.

“I… I’m not like him.”

Spike looked up from stepping into his jeans to raise an eyebrow at Angel.

“Like Angelus. I’m not him,” Angel said.

Spike had to wriggle the jeans up around the thick plastic boot. “Could have fooled me,” he said to the floor.

Angel squirmed. “I get it, all right?” He stepped in front of Spike as Spike reached for his shirt, and the alarm on Spike’s face hit him like a blow. He took a step back. “If nothing else, I get it, now. You made me see it – made me feel and live it. The way Angelus felt… about all I’d done. He… he approved.”

“Crying for you,” Spike said. He moved with a great deal of caution, around Angel. By the door, he tore off the hospital gown and shrugged into his shirt.

Angel bit his lip, looking at him with regret and longing. “I’m sorry,” he said, again.

“I know,” Spike said, and opened the door. “Goodbye, Angel. Don’t follow me.”

Angel took Spike’s abandoned space on the hospital bed and looked down at his hands in his lap.

In the hallway, Lindsey had been slumped in a plastic chair. He jumped up at Spike’s appearance. “Is he…?”

“Brooding,” Spike said. He nodded to Lindsey. “Thanks for the rescue.”

Lindsey followed Spike down the corridor. “Where are you headed?”

“Somewhere not here.”

Lindsey lifted a shoulder and looked off to the side. “I could give you a lift.”

Spike paused, turned and looked at him. “Sure, cowboy. Think that could save some time.”

“I’ll get the truck,” Lindsey said.

“Meet me downstairs,” Spike said. “I’ve got some good-byes to say.”

Lindsey nodded, and pushed through to the stairwell exit.

Spike took a deep breath, listened a moment to the quiet sounds of the medical equipment, the barely-audible susurrus of Angel’s sighs. He straightened, put his bad foot forward, and felt himself leaving it all behind.

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I've been bored, and not working well on anything I wanted to write, so of course I started a new WIP.


End file.
